The wind howled, rain lashed down in sheets.
It was so dark inside the castle that extra torches had been set up along the corridors and in every classroom, their flames flickering wildly in the storm.
Today was the big match: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.
At the crack of dawn, Sirius bounded into Douglas Holmes's office, positively glowing with excitement.
"Sirius, I was hoping to sleep in for once—it's the perfect weather for it!" Douglas groaned.
Sirius just laughed, slinging an arm around Douglas's shoulders. "Sleep's for the old, Douglas! Today's Harry's match—surely you want to cheer him on?"
Douglas eyed the look on Sirius's face, the one that screamed 'take me with you, or else.' He shrugged off the arm with a wry smile. "Have you forgotten? I'm a Hufflepuff. If I'm cheering for anyone, it's my own house."
With that, he settled leisurely at his desk and began enjoying his breakfast.
Dobby stood nearby, dutifully reporting on yesterday's study progress and today's learning plan.
Sirius, not to be outdone by a House-elf, tossed a piece of parchment—his own summary and plan—onto the table. Douglas had suggested he simply give a daily verbal report like Dobby, but Sirius would sooner eat his own tail than be compared to a House-elf, so he'd settled for written updates.
By the time they reached the Quidditch pitch, students were already pouring in, their excitement undampened by the rolling thunder, howling wind, or the distant crack of branches snapping in the Forbidden Forest.
Douglas donned a rain-repelling cloak and, with Sirius in his Animagus form trotting at his side, made his way to the edge of the stands.
He'd barely sat down when he noticed Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall watching him from the main stand. Douglas grinned and gave them a polite nod.
Soon, the teams appeared: Gryffindor in blazing red, Hufflepuff in soft yellow, both squads swaying in the gale as they lined up at the center of the pitch.
Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the storm, and the match was on.
Douglas kindly cast a visual magnification charm on Sirius's eyes—without magic, most spectators could only see flashes of red and yellow streaking through the downpour, little more than lightning bolts darting across the sky.
Whenever Harry narrowly dodged a Bludger, Sirius would startle and yelp, tail wagging in anxious bursts.
But as Harry soared with that unmistakable, graceful style, Sirius couldn't help but mutter, even through his dog muzzle, "That's James' boy, all right!"
Douglas snorted. "Honestly, he's hopeless. One Impervius charm would keep his glasses clear, but did he think ahead? Of course not. And in weather like this, you'd think he'd prepare some warming spells…"
Sirius, affronted, grabbed the hem of Douglas's cloak in his teeth, only to have his head pinned down by Douglas's firm hand. He'd forgotten just how strong the man was.
Time ticked by. The sky grew ever darker; though it was only midday, it felt as if night had fallen.
Half of Douglas's attention was fixed on the Dementors lurking at the edge of the grounds.
A flash of lightning split the sky. Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled, pausing the match.
Hufflepuff was ahead by only 20 points. Despite their Nimbus 2001s, the weather and teamwork left their advantage razor-thin.
After a brief break, the game resumed. But the storm only grew fiercer—howling wind, blinding rain, and lightning made the pitch a dangerous place.
Douglas noticed the Dementors creeping closer to the field, their numbers swelling.
He slipped a handful of specially prepared wooden plaques from his cloak. While everyone's eyes were glued to the match, a dozen enchanted plaques zipped through the rain, soaring high above the pitch.
In midair, Harry, weaving past Cedric, caught a flicker of movement. He instinctively checked his chest—his cousin's protective amulet was still there. He let out a breath. "Am I seeing things?" he muttered.
Suddenly, Wood's voice rang out, strained and desperate: "Harry! What are you doing? Behind you!"
Harry snapped out of his daze and glanced back.
Cedric, Hufflepuff's Seeker, was darting through the rain—and between them, glimmering gold: the Snitch.
Harry knew he couldn't outpace Cedric, so he feigned aimless flying, inching closer to the Snitch's location.
But Cedric caught on fast. Following Harry's line of sight, he too spotted the Snitch and shot after it.
Harry cursed under his breath and surged forward, broom angled for maximum speed.
Just as both Seekers reached out for the Snitch, an icy chill swept over Harry.
From his chest, a silver-white, translucent crane burst forth, wings unfurling as it circled protectively. The chill vanished at once.
As the crane appeared, Cedric recognized it instantly—Professor Holmes's Patronus.
He took in the scene around them: Dementors—dozens, maybe a hundred—had closed in, hidden by the sheets of rain.
The Snitch forgotten, Cedric whipped out his wand and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
The Dementors had crept in so quietly that no one had noticed. Now, as the white crane soared overhead, it was as if a beacon had been lit. The match ground to a halt.
Students who'd learned the Patronus Charm sprang into action, wands raised, sending their own glowing guardians into the stormy sky.
Surrounded by a dozen shimmering Patronuses, the mass of Dementors began to retreat, streaming toward the school's boundaries.
But panic sent a few Dementors hurtling toward the stands. The Patronuses already unleashed couldn't be redirected in time, leaving the children in the stands exposed.
Someone shouted from the crowd, "Use the Muddle Mist—Professor said it's adapted from the Patronus Charm!"
The fifth-years who hadn't yet mastered the Patronus spell sprang into action, drawing their wands, focusing their minds. One after another, glowing clouds of Muddle Mist formed, wrapping the stands in a protective haze.
The Dementors recoiled in disgust and veered away, only to try their luck at another section of the audience.
Inspired, more fifth-years joined in, weaving fresh layers of Muddle Mist.
But before the Dementors could do any harm, a silver-white cat—its form sharp and unmistakable—leapt from nowhere, chasing the last of the creatures out of the grounds.
A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the stands—after all, this had been a rare chance to practice real defensive magic.
Up on the main stand, Dumbledore watched it all with a smile, making no move to intervene.
High above, Harry watched as his Patronus faded away. For a moment, he felt utterly useless. If not for his cousin's amulet, he might have lost his soul to the Dementors.
He glanced at Cedric—who could cast such a complex spell so effortlessly—and felt a pang of inadequacy.
Cedric, having withdrawn his Patronus, met Harry's gaze. They exchanged rueful smiles—just moments ago, the Snitch had darted away.
Suddenly, several gray shadows flashed past.
Cedric started, ready to give chase, but Harry shouted, "Don't! Those belong to Professor Holmes!"
Cedric blinked, then peered into the rain. It was far too heavy to see anything clearly.
Just then, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again, and both Seekers descended toward the pitch.
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