Chapter 383: Quidditch in the Rain
"Harry, eat more. It's going to be a brutal match," Wood said as he came over, clapping Harry hard on the shoulder. "You need to be at your best, all right?"
"I will," Harry said quickly.
"Dudley, are you coming to watch?" Wood asked, glancing at him as well.
"Of course," Dudley said, nodding without hesitation.
"Brilliant. If Flint sees you there, he'll probably forget how Quidditch is even played," Wood said cheerfully.
The others around them burst into laughter at that.
Off in the distance, a group of Slytherin students saw the scene and clenched their teeth, faces tight with anger.
"The rain's getting worse," Hermione said, looking out at the downpour with a worried frown. "I'm honestly concerned for you lot."
When Dudley and Harry had flown earlier, it had already been raining, but two hours later, it had not eased in the slightest. If anything, it had grown heavier until it was a full storm.
"Don't worry, Hermione. We've trained in rain like this before," Fred said, grinning as if it were nothing. "This is just a little drizzle."
"Yeah," George chimed in solemnly. "Just a tiny drizzle."
Breakfast went quickly, filled with chatter and jokes, the minutes slipping past before anyone noticed.
"I'm going to change. See you in a bit," Harry said, saying his goodbyes to Ron and the others before leaving the Great Hall with the rest of the team.
Around the same time, most people finished eating as well and began filing towards the Quidditch pitch.
Quidditch was so wildly popular at Hogwarts that even a roaring storm could not keep the crowd away. Nothing was stopping students from watching a match.
Especially not Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
For both Houses, this match mattered. Nearly everyone headed for the stands to shout themselves hoarse for their side.
Once they stepped out of the Great Hall, Dudley cast a charm to keep the rain off, shutting the wild wind and pounding water out as if an invisible barrier had settled around him.
By the time they climbed up into the stands, almost every decent spot had already been claimed.
"Dudley, over here, over here!" Neville waved both arms, calling them over with a kind of frantic determination.
He had come early and secured a perfect viewing position.
"Thanks, Neville," Dudley said.
The sightline was excellent. From here, they could see the entire pitch.
"This rain is unreal," Hermione muttered.
Even from the best seats, the world beyond was a blur of white and grey. The downpour shredded their view. Once the match began, it would be hard to tell who was who.
"If only there was a spell to stop the rain," Ron said, squinting into the sheets of water.
"There are spells," Dudley said. "But covering an area this large is difficult, and keeping it going would be even harder. Most witches and wizards can't manage it alone. You'd need a lot of people casting together."
"You could do it, though, couldn't you?" Ron asked.
To Ron, there was simply nothing Dudley couldn't do.
"I could," Dudley replied. "But there's no need."
"All right," Ron said with a sigh. "Watching a match in a storm is a rare experience, I suppose. It's just Harry and my brothers I feel sorry for."
Down on the pitch, Harry and the rest of Gryffindor were already in bright scarlet robes, stepping out onto the field.
Opposite them came Slytherin, cloaked in deep green, Flint at the front.
"In rain like this, can Harry even see the Golden Snitch?" Hermione asked, frowning hard.
They could barely pick out faces from the stands. Trying to spot a tiny flash of gold while flying at speed would be far worse.
"Trust Harry," Ron said.
Before long, the match began.
At Madam Hooch's command, both teams mounted their brooms and shot into the air.
Even these seasoned Quidditch players were thrown about in the storm, swaying and jolting as if they might fall at any moment.
Dudley narrowed his eyes, searching for Harry.
He quickly locked onto a scarlet figure flying higher than most, fighting the wind with stubborn determination.
"In weather like this…" Dudley murmured, watching Harry strain to keep his balance. "It feels wrong."
The moment the match started, the clashes were vicious.
Slytherin came in hard, as if they meant to pour every bit of humiliation they had suffered at Dudley's hands into their attacks, hurling themselves at Gryffindor with savage force.
Gryffindor refused to yield. They met the pressure head-on, answering with equally sharp, aggressive play.
Only five minutes in, the two sides were already locked in a furious struggle. More than once, someone nearly slipped from their broom, drawing gasps and cries from the entire crowd.
For all the danger, the match was spectacular.
The oppressive mood that had weighed over Hogwarts these past weeks seemed to be ripped open by the screaming excitement, as though everyone had been waiting for an excuse to let it out.
Boom.
A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the sky, lighting the entire pitch in a harsh white glare. The thunder that followed swallowed the crowd's shrieks whole.
The sudden flash left everyone half deaf for a moment, eyes flooded with brightness, seeing nothing but white.
A few seconds later, sound came rushing back in a wave of cheers and screams.
If anything, the crowd grew louder than before.
"Come on, Gryffindor!"
"Go on, Gryffindor!"
"Beat Slytherin!"
The roar for Gryffindor far outstripped the noise for Slytherin. Even with Slytherin students screaming until their throats gave out, one House could not compete with the force of three.
It was right when Dudley's attention was fully caught by the match, rising and falling with the rhythm of the play, that he felt something shift.
The air around them turned colder.
Within the students' cries, white mist began to coil. Above, the clouds thickened, heavy and unnatural, and the entire pitch seemed to darken as if the world itself were being smothered.
"Dementors."
Dudley jolted as though wrenched awake.
He shot to his feet, staring into the distant sky.
"What?" Ron and Hermione had been completely absorbed in the match. They had not caught his first word, but the instant they saw him stand, they knew something was wrong.
"It's dementors," Dudley said, his face dark. "They're coming."
"We have to stop the match."
Far off in the storm-black clouds, Dudley could feel it, a dreadful, freezing presence. Those currents of cold were gathering together, and even he felt it sink into his bones.
This was not something a handful of dementors could produce.