Quidditch was a magnificent spectacle. At least, that was what Maurise told himself.
In reality, he had absolutely no idea what was happening.
To Maurise, the match looked like a chaotic blur of scarlet and emerald streaks screaming across the sky, accompanied by the occasional deafening roar of the crowd. It was only now, watching the other students lean forward with intense focus, that he realized why everyone else had remembered to bring omnioculars.
"Look at that!" Cho Chang cried, her hands gripped tightly around her binoculars. Her usual calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by the fervor of a true seeker. "Harry is breaking through! They're going to... oh, no! A Bludger caught them off guard. So close!"
Maurise nodded sagely, though he saw nothing but a messy smudge of red hitting a messy smudge of green. He couldn't tell a Beater from a Chaser, let alone identify who was currently holding the Quaffle. The only person he could vaguely pick out was Harry Potter, mostly because he was the smallest speck in the sky.
Is this really the wizarding world's favorite pastime? Maurise wondered. He wasn't quite sold on the appeal of watching people risk their lives on flying sticks.
'Then again', he thought, 'maybe playing is better than watching. Perhaps I'll give it a go one day, if I develop a sudden urge to break every bone in my body.'
Beside him, Cho continued her impromptu role as his personal commentator. Usually soft-spoken, the Quidditch atmosphere had transformed her into a high-energy analyst.
"Ooh, the Slytherin Seeker just tried a beautiful feint! Wait, no, he bungled it," Cho said, finally lowering her binoculars to look at Maurise. Her eyes were bright with excitement.
"It's brilliant, isn't it? I went to the Quidditch World Cup with my father once. Now that was a show. Seeing professionals pull off a Wronski Feint is something you never forget. You really ought to see a professional match if you get the chance."
Maurise had no idea what a "Wronski Feint" was, but he didn't want to sound like a total amateur. "Right, right. High-level stuff." He squinted at the sky, pointing toward a particularly erratic figure. "So, what kind of feint would you call... that?"
"What do you mean?" Cho raised her binoculars again, following his finger.
High above the pitch, Harry Potter was no longer flying. He was vibrating. He was gripping his broom with white-knuckled intensity, his body jerking and twitching as if he were riding an invisible, caffeinated bull. At one point, he performed three consecutive three-hundred-and-sixty-degree flips that looked less like acrobatics and more like a glitch in reality.
"That's... strange," Cho muttered, her brow furrowing in confusion. "A new tactic, maybe? To distract the opposition? A visual interference maneuver?"
Maurise nodded slowly, impressed. "Makes sense. Look at them."
He pointed toward the Slytherin team. Several of their players had actually stopped moving entirely, hovering in mid-air and staring at Harry with expressions of pure bewilderment.
'Pure genius', Maurise thought. 'The Potter Gambit.'
Act so completely insane that the enemy forgets they're in a game.
However, his admiration began to waver when the "tactic" continued for five straight minutes.
During that time, the Slytherins shook off their confusion and proceeded to score several goals while Harry continued his interpretive dance of terror in the clouds. The stands were buzzing with nervous whispers. Even the professors looked like they were reaching for their wands.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the erratic dancing stopped. Harry went into a vertical, bone-shaking dive toward the turf.
Maurise saw a flash of gold near the boy's head. Harry hit the ground hard, tumbling across the grass in a mess of limbs and robes before finally coming to a halt on all fours. It wasn't graceful, but as he scrambled up, he thrust his hand into the air.
"I've got the Snitch!" Harry bellowed.
The whistle blew, and Lee Jordan's voice exploded over the magical megaphones, announcing a Gryffindor victory.
Maurise gave a respectful nod of approval.
'Harry, you magnificent bastard. He faked a total loss of broom control to lure the Slytherins into a false sense of security, waited for the perfect opening, and then struck like a lightning bolt. No wonder he's the Boy Who Lived. The sheer nerves required to plummet like that... I could never do it.'
Cho, however, looked less convinced. "I have never seen a tactical maneuver involving that much... twitching," she whispered, still staring at the pitch in disbelief.
As the crowds began to filter out of the stadium, Maurise intended to find Harry and congratulate him on his "strategic" masterpiece. However, the moment the team landed, Harry was whisked away by Hermione and Ron, heading toward Hagrid's hut with a look of frantic urgency on their faces.
'Busy being a hero, I suppose', Maurise thought, turning back toward the castle alone.
As he approached the stone walls of the school, a familiar, raspy sound echoed through the air.
"Aww Aww"
Maurise rounded the corner of the castle and looked up. Hovering a few feet above the grass was a sight that most students would find deeply alarming, but to Maurise, it was just another Monday.
His pet owl, Cider, was flapping her soot-black wings vigorously. Clutched firmly in her talons was his other pet, Tin. Tin was a cat.
More specifically, Tin was an undead cat who was currently flailing his legs in the air, trying and failing to claw his way out of the owl's grip.
It was a bizarre, airborne wrestling match. With a final, annoyed huff of feathers, Cinder let go.
"Meowww!"
Tin plummeted, hitting the grass with a dull thud and rolling twice before springing back to his feet. He immediately turned around and hissed at the owl, his fur standing on end. Cinder landed elegantly on a nearby hedge, preening her wings and pointedly ignoring the cat's existence.
Maurise sighed, rubbing his temples. "You idiot cat. What did you do to upset her this time? I told you two, no fighting on school grounds!"
Tin let out a pathetic whimper, looking thoroughly dejected. In truth, he hadn't done much. He had simply noticed Fireworks napping on a low-hanging branch near the river and, in a moment of feline inspiration, decided to see if they could both go for a swim. He didn't think she'd mind the cold water. After all, they were both technically dead; it wasn't like they could catch a cold.
Cider clearly disagreed with his logic.
Before Maurise could lecture them further, Cinder suddenly snapped her head toward the path leading from the stadium. She let out a sharp, warning hoot. Tin instantly forgot his grudge, arching his back and baring his teeth as he stared in the same direction.
Maurise felt a cold prickle of apprehension.
Based on his pets' reactions, he half-expected a mountain troll or a rogue Cerberus to come charging around the corner.
Instead, three figures stepped into view.
It was Draco Malfoy, flanked by his ever-present shadows, Crabbe and Goyle.
Maurise let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Oh, thank goodness. It's just Malfoy.
Compared to an undead-hating monster, a blonde brat was a relief.
He attempted to walk past them without making eye contact, but the trio moved with practiced coordination, stepping out to block his path.
"Not so fast," Draco said, tilting his chin up with a sneer that looked like it had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. "Don't you think you owe us an apology for earlier?"
Maurise blinked, genuinely confused. "An apology? For what?"
As far as he remembered, Malfoy had been the one to snatch his book earlier in the stands. If anyone was the victim of a crime here, it was the person currently being blocked by three goons.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Maurise said plainly.