Draco Malfoy, like Harry, was a Seeker, both of them were core figures in Quidditch matches.
If anything happened to a Seeker, the damage to the entire team would be fatal.
Gryffindor, up to this point, still had no substitute Seeker.
Slytherin was slightly better off. Although they had a backup Seeker, his flying skills were significantly inferior to Malfoy's.
If he had to replace Malfoy on the field against Harry, it would be nothing short of a free win for Gryffindor.
Under these circumstances, Malfoy's days began to become particularly difficult.
He started enjoying the same treatment Harry had endured.
On the way to class, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students would deliberately stick out their legs to trip him, and the hem of his black robes had been stepped on and twisted awry several times.
Wherever he went, there were always some lions and eagles with ill intentions lurking about.
Only when they saw him surrounded by others would they reluctantly move aside with disappointment written all over their faces.
Flint had issued strict orders that Malfoy must be accompanied wherever he went, never giving the little lions and eagles any opportunity to interfere with his participation in the match.
Slytherin was united in this regard, with many students eagerly volunteering for the task.
This resulted in Malfoy being unable to arrive at class on time because he was always surrounded by a large chattering crowd, like an impenetrable human wall.
Yet even so, Malfoy remained both angry and helpless.
"I'm Draco Malfoy, not Harry Potter. You don't need to treat me like this!"
He tugged at his collar, which had been wrinkled by his companions, his tone was full of impatience.
"That won't do, Draco," a teammate immediately retorted, his face full of vigilance. "Yesterday Graham was ambushed. You're our core player—you absolutely cannot have anything happen to you!"
"I..."
Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line. He was furious enough to curse, but still managed to hold it in.
He knew his teammate had a point, but his heart still felt stifled.
It was just a match, what was the point of all these underhanded tactics?
What made him even more angry was that someone—he didn't know who—had spread word that the little lions and eagles might tamper with their broomsticks.
This scared all the Slytherin Quidditch players out of their wits.
Those were seven Nimbus 2001s!
Although everyone felt the Slytherin dungeons were the safest of the four houses, the saying went. better safe than sorry.
So, everyone became more concerned about the safety of their broomsticks than about themselves.
When not flying, everyone carefully locked their brooms in their trunks.
Some particularly nervous people would rush back to the Slytherin dungeons during breaks to check if their brooms were still there.
Finally, after being caught and pelted with Dungbombs, his black robes stained with foul-smelling filth, Marcus Flint could no longer endure it.
He brought the entire Quidditch team, along with two Slytherin prefects, to find Gemma Farley, the Head Girl.
"This is outrageous, simply outrageous!"
Flint roared furiously, his hands waving wildly, the veins on his forehead were throbbing. "The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws have gone too far!
Farley, you must deal with this!
If this continues, we won't be able to rest properly before the match!"
The other players chimed in, all talking at once about the misdeeds of the little lions and eagles,
"Exactly! Yesterday when I was walking through the corridor, someone tripped me several times—my knees are all bruised!" A short player rolled up his pant leg, revealing the bruised wounds.
"When I was eating in the Great Hall, I fished half a Flobberworm out of my pumpkin juice! I feel sick just thinking about it!" Another player covered his mouth, his face full of disgust.
"What's that compared to my situation? When I went to the bathroom, a disheveled female ghost suddenly appeared next to me. I'm still traumatized!"
"..."
Gemma stood in place, arms crossed, her movements elegant and composed, as if the chaos in front of her had nothing to do with her.
Flint's complaints, roaring like a troll, along with the other players' grievances, crashed against her blue eyes, which were like a frozen lake surface, stirring only silent, cold ripples of contempt.
Her heart remained unmoved, she even felt like laughing. A trace of mocking amusement deepened at the corner of her mouth.
Watching Gemma's reaction, the Quidditch players in the common room gradually realized something was wrong.
Initially indignant, they looked at each other and eventually stopped.
"Go on, why aren't you continuing?"
Gemma's gaze swept over the group of Quidditch players one by one, with an almost appreciative look, slowly scanning each of them.
When her gaze passed over Draco Malfoy, it lingered for a moment.
As soon as he met Gemma's eyes, Malfoy immediately lowered his head.
Gemma laughed lightly and finally looked at Flint, "Brilliant—truly brilliant!"
Gemma's voice ended with a lazy drawl, as if commenting on a clumsy farce.
"Should I invite Professor Snape here too, to hear your accusations against Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?
The elite Slytherin players, driven like homeless dogs, communally running to me to whine.
Including our all-powerful captain here—what an eye-opening, amazing spectacle!"
The other team members felt somewhat embarrassed by Gemma's words, but Flint was enraged.
"Farley! What kind of attitude is this!
They're the ones provoking! Using dirty tricks!
This is an insult to all of Slytherin!
You're Head Girl—you should use your authority to punish them!"
"Manage? Punish? Authority?"
As if hearing an extremely absurd joke, Gemma laughed coldly several times and finally lowered her crossed arms.
She stepped forward slowly, walking up to Flint. Her boots made crisp echoes on the damp stone floor of the dungeon, like hammers striking everyone's nerves.
"The prefects can no longer handle this matter, so they came to me, right?
Marcus Flint, tell me—being passively beaten, complaining everywhere, seeking protection, which of these fits Slytherin's way of doing things?"
Although Gemma Farley was tall, standing before Flint, the towering figure, she was still nearly a head shorter than him.
Yet even so, she still made this burly Quidditch captain feel an invisible pressure.
"What I see is a group of so-called elites being chased around, panicked and fleeing.
Slytherin's glory is in planning before acting, not in starting trouble and then being unable to handle the consequences!
Your actions are nothing but a desecration of it!
Cowards!"
Gemma Farley's merciless rebuke changed the faces of all the players present.
Flint's face mixed anger with embarrassment and defiance, while the other players shrank back.
Only Malfoy's eyes flickered uncertainly.
Under Gemma's sharp words, he vaguely felt he was glimpsing certain truths he had always been unwilling to admit.
Namely, that their current predicament did indeed appear extremely foolish.
"They're the ones who violated the rules..."
Chaser Cassius Warrington explained in a low voice, but before he could finish, he fell silent under Gemma's cold glance.
"Rules?"
Gemma's cold laugh made Cassius Warrington feel a chill down his back.
"Cassius, you tell me—who was the first to trip Potter in the corridor?
Who's been trying every day to catch him alone and ambush him?
And who smeared toad slime on Ravenclaw students' textbooks?
What, now you can't handle being treated the same way?"
Gemma's gaze was sharp as a knife, sweeping over everyone present, lingering especially on Flint and those who had led the mockery of Gryffindor.
"When you were enjoying the pleasure of bullying others, did you ever think that was itself an invitation?
An invitation for them to return the favor in an even fiercer, more shameless manner?
Slytherin acts with strength, strategy, and purpose!
Exploit the rules? No problem.
But the prerequisite is having enough skill to control things without getting burned!
But look at yourselves!
Foolish indulgence has invited retaliation, yet you lack the means to counter it!
When things spiral out of control, you can only shout and scream like helpless brats, expecting others to clean up your mess?"
Gemma suddenly turned cutting a sharp arc.
"Put away these pitiful faces in front of me!
Slytherin doesn't need cowards who only know how to tattle!
What I want are hunters who can control the situation, know when to attack and when to lie low, and ultimately achieve their goals!"
At this moment, Gemma's powerful presence completely dominated the entire space.
Her every word was like an invisible whip, lashing at the house pride these little snakes took such pride in.
This made them undeniably recognize that their failure was not only due to the other side's harassment, but also their own strategic blunders.
Gemma looked coldly at the two prefects who had been dragged here by Flint, her eyes were full of disdain for this behavior.
Anger and grievance quickly faded from the players' faces, leaving only exposed embarrassment and a trace of subdued fear.
Only Flint remained dissatisfied. He waved his arms again and roared.
"Farley! Don't forget you're a Slytherin! How can you speak on their behalf..."
"Marcus Flint!"
Gemma suddenly drew her wand, pressing it directly against Flint's chest.
"Don't need you to remind me—a mad dog barking everywhere like you, do you even deserve to be called a Slytherin?
When you were plotting how to deal with them, why didn't you think about house loyalty?
Getting counterattacked and coming to cry to me? You're really embarrassing the Head of House!"
With Gemma's wand pointed at him, Flint's movements came to an abrupt halt.
A bead of sweat silently trickled down his temple.
He suddenly remembered something.
Before Gemma was selected as a prefect, he had once considered her just a pretty but useless embellishment and had spoken rudely to her.
As a result, Gemma had directly challenged him.
Originally confident, he was utterly powerless against her and ended up bound like a dumpling and left in a corner of the common room for an entire night.
Now, being pointed at by Gemma's wand again, he recalled the fear of being dominated by Gemma.
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