In stark contrast to the rising morale and feverish anticipation in Ravenclaw Tower, the atmosphere in Gryffindor was one of utter devastation. They were convinced that Professor Snape would manipulate the game to unfairly penalize Gryffindor and ensure their loss.
"Snape as referee?" George Weasley was so shocked by the news that he momentarily fell off his broom, landing in the muddy field. Spitting out dirt, he demanded, "When did he ever become a Quidditch referee? He hates Gryffindor with a vengeance; it's absolutely going to be rigged!"
Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, desperately tried to rally his team with an argument he clearly didn't believe himself. "It's not necessarily about favouring Slytherin. Ravenclaw won far more House Points than Slytherin last term. If Snape wants Slytherin to win the House Cup, he has to suppress Ravenclaw first. This match is probably their only chance to get ahead."
"But Allen Harris is the student Snape criticizes the least! Maybe Snape is prejudiced for him!" protested one player.
"And it's obvious he loathes Harry!" shouted another.
"The only thing saving us is that Allen isn't the Seeker, he's just a Chaser. You've all seen his flying, and his broom model isn't anything special," a third player offered, grasping at straws.
The Gryffindor team members gathered around George, some complaining bitterly, others trying to inject a sliver of hope.
"Regardless," Captain Wood said, deliberately hardening his voice, "as long as we play the game strictly by the rules, Professor Snape will have no plausible reason to cause us trouble."
After the Gryffindor team finished their miserable training session for the day, Harry went straight to the Common Room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing a fierce game of Wizard Chess while the other students lounged around.
Hermione only lost when playing Wizard Chess, a fact Harry and Ron believed was good for her, as it directed some of her excessive competitive energy away from rivals like Allen.
"Don't talk to me yet," Ron muttered when Harry sat down next to him. "I need to think… strategize…" But when he saw the look on Harry's face, he added, "What's wrong with you? You look like you've been poisoned."
Harry lowered his voice, not wanting anyone else to overhear, and recounted the shocking news of Snape's sudden, malicious desire to referee the Quidditch Final.
"Don't even play," Hermione advised instantly.
"Just say you're sick," Ron suggested.
"Pretend you broke a leg," Hermione elaborated.
"Say he actually snapped a bone," Ron clarified.
"I can't do that!" Harry whispered fiercely. "We don't have a reserve Seeker. If I pull out, Gryffindor forfeits the match!"
The Ravenclaws, in contrast, were relaxed after their training. After washing off the mud in the bathrooms, Allen headed toward his customary secluded spot on the fifth floor of the library to complete his homework.
As Allen reached the upper floor, he saw Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin, smirking and waving his wand menacingly as he harassed Neville Longbottom and Fleg near the library entrance at the far end of the corridor.
"One pure-blood imbecile, and one mud-blood weakling! What a perfect pairing! Why don't you two put on a better show for us!" At that moment, Draco's usually refined features twisted into a truly feral sneer. He aimed his wand first at Neville, then at Fleg.
Neville desperately stepped in front of Fleg, his face contorted in sheer terror. Fleg, driven by fury, lunged forward, trying to break free and attack Malfoy, but his arms were held in a vice-grip by the surprisingly tall Crabbe and Goyle, who looked far too big for their age.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Neville and Fleg were struck almost simultaneously by two different spells: Neville's legs instantly fused together, and Fleg's entire body locked rigid.
Malfoy, too far away for Allen to intervene immediately, let out a loud, mocking laugh. His noise drew the attention of Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor student standing farther down the corridor. Seeing his classmate being bullied, Seamus quickly drew his wand and sprinted toward the scene.
Allen was faster than Seamus. Although the distance prevented him from blocking the initial curses, he wasn't about to stand by after watching his Muggle-world friend be humiliated.
He strode forward, his hands clasped behind his back, deliberately mimicking Draco Malfoy's tone, and twisted his words to mock the three Slytherins: "One pure-blood idiot, two pure-blood weaklings. What a truly pitiful trio! Why don't you put on a better show for me!"
"Harris?! Are you actually going to side against me and Slytherin for two Gryffindor fools? Remember your loyalties!" Malfoy's laughter instantly froze, replaced by a look of utter disbelief.
"Locomotor Mortis!" Allen responded with a sharp wave of his wand. He first hit Malfoy, then quickly cast the Leg-Locker Curse on Crabbe and Goyle. Those two were so magically inept that their only real weapon was their sheer physical size.
After the spell was cast, Allen raised his wand, cocked an eyebrow, and stared them down. "Malfoy, do you wish to defy me and Ravenclaw?"
Draco Malfoy tried to cast a counter-curse, but being utterly unfamiliar with the necessary incantation, he failed to break Allen's spell.
The three Slytherins glared hatefully at Allen. Crabbe and Goyle cursed loudly in a thick, incomprehensible dialect, while Malfoy, red-faced with embarrassment and rage, sputtered, "Allen, you will regret this! You should know that the referee for the Quidditch Final is our Head of House, Professor Snape!"
Malfoy seemed to foresee Allen's eventual humiliation and defeat after delivering his threat, and a spiteful smile briefly appeared on his lips.
"I have faith in the Professor's character," Allen shrugged, completely unmoved by Malfoy's intimidation, offering a reason he didn't even half-believe. "In the meantime, you three had better find a Professor capable of breaking that curse, or perhaps try Madam Pomfrey."
Malfoy and his two companions were forced to hop away from the library entrance like three enraged, stiff-legged rabbits, much to the loud, mocking laughter of Seamus, who had finally arrived but missed his chance to cast a spell.
"You two are only first-years. You need to be much braver, or things are going to get harder," Allen said, turning to his two classmates.
"How can I be brave when I can't even stand up!" Neville, pinned to the floor by his locked legs, flailed his arms in an attempt to maintain balance. He ended up leaning on Fleg for support.
"Thanks, Allen. And thanks to you too, Seamus," Fleg said, feeling a little embarrassed by his Muggle friend witnessing his disheveled state. Neville, realizing he hadn't spoken yet, quickly repeated his thanks.
"I'll lift the curse for you," Seamus offered, raising his still-drawn wand and aiming it at Neville.
"No! No! Leave me alone! I don't want my legs to blow up!" Neville's face was even more terrified now than it had been facing Malfoy. He scrambled backward, nearly taking Fleg down with him.
Seamus lowered his wand, annoyance flashing across his face. His nostrils flared. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Longbottom! Haven't you noticed my eyebrows have finally grown back?"
After saying this, Seamus ran his index finger over his now normal-looking eyebrows, then angrily turned away, revealing a small bald patch on the back of his head. It appeared his hair would take a bit longer to regrow.
There was a moment of silence. Allen bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. After a second, he managed to compose himself and recited the counter-curse flawlessly: "Finitas Incantatem."
Finally free, Neville and Fleg collapsed onto the floor. "Thank you, Allen! Really, thank you!"
Allen helped them stand. "Don't mention it, Neville. Fleg and I have known each other since Muggle primary school."
Hearing Allen's words, Fleg felt a familiar internal conflict. They had once been inseparable best friends, but after arriving at Hogwarts, the gap between them had unknowingly widened. Fleg had never imagined Harry's name would become so explosively prominent in the wizarding world.
Being seen with them now drew unwanted attention, putting immense pressure on Fleg. Due to his own weak magical abilities, Fleg subconsciously gravitated toward the equally struggling Neville Longbottom. He felt that being with Neville alleviated some of that invisible pressure.
Allen understood Fleg's dilemma and wasn't surprised. He preferred the kind of friendship that could withstand distance, a relationship as easy and light as water. Friendships that required constant maintenance were simply beyond his capacity given the intensity of his current activities.
But seeing the redness around Fleg's eyes, Allen clapped him on the shoulder. "You were very brave just now. I saw everything. You're a true Gryffindor." Allen then looked at Neville with an encouraging smile.
"Mr. Longbottom, while your name has a… unique meaning, you and your name combined suggest you won't always be at the bottom. I believe that one day, you will demonstrate tremendous courage, just as you bravely shielded Fleg today."
(Author's Note: Longbottom suggests 'long at the bottom,' and Neville's name, pronounced like Never, is often interpreted as meaning 'never at the bottom forever.' This aligns with the source material, where Neville, often portrayed as clumsy and low-ranking, rises to deliver a pivotal speech and destroy Nagini.)
Next came the highly anticipated Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor Quidditch Final. As a member of the Eagles, Allen was intensely motivated to win. He knew Harry Potter was naturally gifted and enjoyed enormous luck in the field, but he wouldn't concede without a fight.
So, he spent hours in the Room of Requirement, ingeniously using the Philosopher's Stone to alloy a large quantity of gold, and then anonymously ordered a batch of brand new Nimbus 2000s to upgrade his team's brooms.
Captain Roger Davies was ecstatic. As far as he was concerned, victory was now assured, barring blatant favoritism from Snape. This was more than just a single match; Roger believed that by becoming a 'mercenary' team with superior gear, they could maintain dominance for years to come, even after their graduation.
Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw, was also overjoyed, but he responsibly took all the new, mysteriously donated brooms for meticulous inspection. Such generous donations from alumni were not unheard of, but anonymous gifts of this magnitude were truly rare.
"Professor, can we take the brooms now?" became Roger's daily greeting to Flitwick. The other team members also watched the Head of House with palpable excitement. Finally, three days before the match, Professor Flitwick returned the brooms, his voice sharp with excitement: "We have an excellent chance to win the House Cup this year! I've booked the entire pitch for you to get accustomed to the new equipment!"
The news of their rival's equipment upgrade was a major blow to Gryffindor and the other Houses. Among the Muggle-born students, save for a few who understood the dynamics of racing and sports engineering, most couldn't comprehend why such an obviously unfair competition was so popular among wizards.
The atmosphere during Gryffindor's final training sessions grew increasingly grim. Captain Oliver Wood, having abandoned his morale-boosting attempts, sighed deeply and repeated to Harry: "I'm not trying to put pressure on you, Harry, but this time we need you to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible. We need to end this fast; the sooner the better."
On match day, when the Ravenclaw team flew onto the pitch atop their pristine, gleaming new brooms, the Ravenclaw stands erupted in a deafening, unified roar of cheers. They were all anticipating a glorious victory, completely confident in their technological advantage.
The Gryffindor team still looked somewhat demoralized, but as the moment of the match drew nearer, their innate Gryffindor spirit flared up, giving them a fierce, do-or-die look that made them appear far more energetic than they had before the tournament started.
Moreover, Harry looked far more relaxed than his teammates. This was because his most trusted guardian, Professor Dumbledore, had personally arrived at the Quidditch pitch.
Indeed, it seemed as if the entire school had turned out for the final. Harry was absolutely convinced that as long as Professor Dumbledore was present, Snape wouldn't dare harm him, thus allowing Harry to display his full, natural ability.
Harry was certain Snape wanted him dead, especially since Snape looked so visibly angry now—which, in Harry's mind, simply proved his point.
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Merry Christmas to u all. Hope u all are happy and healthy ☺️ ☺️