"This way, Ivy! Over here!"
On the roaring Quidditch stands, Draco Malfoy was clearing a path for Ivy Doom with the help of his two cronies.
It was Saturday, the last weekend before the Christmas holidays. Though their bodies were in the stands, the little wizards' hearts had already flown far away.
Everywhere was filled with restless chatter, building an atmosphere of excitement across the stadium.
This was Ivy's first time watching a Quidditch match. The last time Slytherin played against Gryffindor, he had been sneaking around the Forbidden Forest with his own schemes and had missed the game entirely.
Still, he had kept just enough attention on the match's progress. After all, Harry's heroic performance as the youngest Seeker in a hundred years at Hogwarts had become the talk of the castle. Even if Ivy had wanted to ignore it, the discussions were impossible to avoid.
But what made him most proud wasn't Harry's success—it was the counter-jinx Ivy had cast on Harry's Nimbus 2000. Clearly, Voldemort and Quirrell weren't as formidable as they thought. They hadn't even managed to break through a spell Ivy had laid down casually. Otherwise, the whole school would have been talking about Harry's broomstick gone mad, not about how he managed to catch the Golden Snitch in his mouth while under interference from Troll No. 1.
As for the possibility that Quirrell hadn't tampered with the Nimbus 2000? Impossible. A fool who is desperate to impress his master would never let a chance to show off slip by. Ivy was ninety-nine percent sure Quirrell had indeed tried something against Harry.
"With your training, our Slytherin Quidditch team is bound to have grown stronger!" Draco pulled Ivy down into a seat. The two students who might have blocked their view quickly shifted back a row, understanding the situation at once.
"I always thought they wouldn't let first-years onto the Quidditch team. Otherwise, I'd have begged my father to pull some strings so I could play too!" Draco's excitement was written all over his face—he knew Slytherin was about to claim an easy victory.
"Did you know, Ivy?" Draco suddenly lowered his voice, a hint of mystery in his tone. "My father does some business with the Nimbus Company. I've heard they'll be releasing a broom next year that completely surpasses the Nimbus 2000! There might even be a prototype already. Who knows—we might get to try it out at the Manor!"
Ever since Ivy had agreed to spend Christmas at Malfoy Manor, Draco had been practically buzzing with excitement, constantly running over to Ivy to daydream about the fun they would have there.
Most of the time, though, he was still the same haughty Malfoy heir—nose in the air, strutting with borrowed authority. Even when speaking to Cassandra, the first-year leader of the little Slytherin snakes, Draco always puffed himself up, and nearly every third sentence mentioned Ivy. It was as though he wanted the entire world to know that Ivy Doom would be his guest at Malfoy Manor.
"Nimbus Company?" Ivy finally showed some interest. "Mr. Lucius really does keep impressive connections."
Receiving this response lit up Draco's face with pride. He was just about to launch into praise of his father when the person sitting directly in front of them turned around, revealing a familiar face—Professor Snape.
"I thought you would be waiting in the players' room, preparing to take the field, Mr. Doom?" Snape spoke in his usual silky drawl. Draco's smile instantly vanished, replaced by the expression of a child bracing for a scolding—clearly not his first time in such a situation with Snape.
"Don't worry, Professor. You'll see their transformation soon enough. Besides, their opponents are only Ravenclaws. They don't need me." Ivy wasn't the least bit intimidated by Snape's scowl. He knew well enough that beneath that forbidding exterior, Snape was nothing more than a hopeless romantic—not nearly as venomous as he appeared.
"Ha! So Slytherin has finally produced a Quidditch prodigy. Though I must remind you—you've never even flown on a broom in a real match, have you?" Snape narrowed his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcastic praise.
"Don't worry, Professor. I fly a lot better than you think!" Ivy replied lightly. "I promise I'll take the field in the rematch against Gryffindor—and I'll personally defeat Harry. Will that satisfy you?"
"I couldn't care less about the manner of Potter's defeat. What matters is the honor of Slytherin." With that, Snape turned back around. But Ivy swore he had seen a flicker of satisfaction cross the professor's face.
Draco, who had witnessed the entire exchange, mouthed silently, Cool! He had never seen a student dare to speak that way to the Head of Slytherin House. But since it was Ivy, somehow it seemed only natural.
"Madam Hooch blows the whistle—the game begins!"
The commentator was once again Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' bold friend who feared nothing and loved to stir the pot. Professor McGonagall sat beside him, keeping constant watch to stop him from showing too much bias and winding up thrashed by angry Slytherins after the game.
"All right—let's see how the first ball is handled—oh no! Slytherin's Chasers have taken possession of the Quaffle! I must say, compared to the Ravenclaw players, their size is absolutely ridiculous. Though I'm sure that must mean they're also clumsier—"
"Mind your words, Mr. Jordan!" McGonagall snapped.
"I mean to say—the Slytherin players may be less agile—but the Quaffle's in! A straight charge, no frills, no tricks—just brute force right into the goal hoop. Not much finesse, if you ask me. If I were Ravenclaw's captain, I'd be planning some extra training for their Keeper after this match!"
Lee Jordan's remarks earned a wave of boos from the Ravenclaw stands. Some students even raised their middle fingers.
But Lee, with nerves of steel, hardly noticed and pressed on: "Ravenclaw in possession again—their three Chasers passing swiftly between one another, seamless teamwork! I daresay the Slytherin Chasers must be dizzy—wait, Flint makes a charge—can he take it? Merlin's beard, he stole the ball! How is that even possible?"
"Jordan!" McGonagall barked.
"Yes, Professor—I understand—wait! Is that the Golden Snitch? Ravenclaw's Seeker may be about to end the game early—he's so close! Slytherin's Seeker, Higgs, has seen it too, and he's racing over! We're about to witness a Seeker showdown—hey! That's a foul!"
Troll No. 7 executed Ivy's strategy perfectly: when the team already had the advantage, there was no need to rush to catch the Snitch. Instead, a well-timed foul could create space to widen the score gap. Only once victory was fully secured should they think about ending the match.