Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

The sky was clear and white clouds rolled lazily across the blue.

The Quidditch pitch, usually quiet and empty, was now packed to the brim. The stands of all four Houses were crammed with eager faces and a sea of waving scarves.

When Peter and the rest of the Slytherin team stepped onto the field, the Slytherin stands erupted into wild cheers. A few upper-year students conjured a snake-shaped firework that hissed and curled through the air, leaving trails of green sparks.

Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws also held up banners, their letters glittering gold in the sunlight:

"Peter Will Win!"

Peter spotted Cedric among the Hufflepuffs and several familiar Ravenclaw girls waving enthusiastically. He lifted a hand in greeting, and the cheers swelled even louder.

"Hello, everyone! Lee Jordan here, your commentator for today. Our dear Professor McGonagall will be supervising… and here comes the Slytherin team. Look at Peter Weasley this handsome fellow is making the young witches scream "

"Cough!"

"Sorry, Professor. And now, here comes the Gryffindor team…"

The players from both sides emerged one by one. Standing at the center of the pitch was Madam Hooch, broom in hand, her whistle gleaming in the sunlight.

"I hope everyone will play fairly, honestly, and in the true spirit of competition…" She cast a meaningful glance at the Slytherin team. Flint only grinned stupidly, flashing his buck teeth, which prompted her to turn away quickly and run through the rules.

Peter caught Harry's eye across the pitch and gave him a quick wink. Harry returned it with a determined, competitive grin.

Poor kid. He had no idea what was about to happen.

"…Alright, everyone, mount your brooms!"

Madam Hooch raised her silver whistle to her lips. The sharp note rang out, and fifteen broomsticks shot into the sky.

The match had begun!

The red Quaffle arced high into the air, and both teams surged forward to claim it.

Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the stadium through a magically enhanced microphone.

"…And we're off! A fierce scramble for the Quaffle what's this? Harry's holding back, flying higher to get a better view. Looks like Oliver Wood has a strategy here, keeping his Seeker out of the fray early… Meanwhile, Peter Weasley is harassing Fred and George Weasley, weaving around them like lightning oh! Fred's gone for a Bludger, but Peter's maneuver has pulled him right into the path of Angelina Johnson! And yes! The Quaffle's been stolen by Slytherin! How underhanded "

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor. I mean, what a brilliant tactical play! Peter's using his speed to the fullest… and the Quaffle is through the hoop! Slytherin takes the lead, ten to zero!"

A gust of wind whipped against Peter's face, making his robes snap and flutter. Adjusting his windproof goggles, he turned mid-air and raised a single finger toward the twins.

The twins did not look pleased.

High above, Harry scanned the pitch anxiously. His team had fallen behind from the very first goal, and it made his stomach twist. Still, no flash of gold caught his eye.

He wanted to swoop down and join the fight, to help with the attack or the defense like Peter did so effortlessly.

But Wood's sharp gesture from below reminded him of the plan Harry was too light and too small to get mixed up in the brawl.

Peter, meanwhile, was still darting like a green blur through the chaos below.

He planted his feet firmly on the footrests of his broom, crouching low, the hem of his cloak whipping wildly behind him as he shot past Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor's Chaser.

A black Bludger locked onto him instantly. Just as it accelerated, aiming to knock him from the air, Peter swerved sharply out of its path.

Angelina, following close behind, was forced to break off her attack to avoid the Bludger, not wanting it to target her instead.

She turned on the twins in frustration. "What are you doing? Knock that blasted Bludger away!"

"…Too dirty I mean, brilliant! Peter just used the Bludger to completely disrupt Gryffindor's formation. Still no sign of the Golden Snitch, and Harry is just circling up there. Gryffindor can't get any momentum going! Did Wood's tactics really work?" Lee Jordan's voice rang through the stands.

No one had the answer.

Peter pushed his Nimbus 2000 to its absolute limit, weaving in and out of plays so that the Bludgers seemed like toys under his control, dancing at his will and constantly throwing Gryffindor off-balance.

Before long, Slytherin had pulled ahead, ninety to twenty. Harry, hovering higher than the rest, was growing increasingly agitated. He'd seen several flashes of gold, but each disappeared too quickly for him to track.

At last, another glimmer caught his eye. Harry couldn't hold back. He leaned forward and dived.

Peter, who had been keeping a close watch on him all match, noticed immediately. He signaled Flint and Adrian Pucey from across the pitch.

Lee Jordan's voice boomed again.

"…Wait did Harry spot the Golden Snitch? He's diving no, Flint and Pucey have broken from the attack! What are they oh, no! They're both speeding straight at Harry! Those two filthy "

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor. Well, they didn't actually hit him, but they've stopped him in his tracks!"

"Foul! That's a foul!" Dean Thomas leapt to his feet in the Gryffindor stands, yelling toward Madam Hooch. "Send them off!"

"Dean, this isn't football. That's a legal block in Quidditch," Seamus Finnigan replied dryly.

Even so, the Gryffindors were still tense. Flint, broad and heavy as a troll, and Pucey, lean and towering, boxed Harry in, brushing close enough to jostle his broom.

They kept up the pretence of "flying too fast," bumping the back of his broom to stop him from accelerating.

"Oh, poor Harry, he looks like a puppet dangling between two gorillas… Come on, where's the referee? Flint's tail just clipped Harry's face! Ref, are you blind?" Lee Jordan yelled.

For once, Professor McGonagall didn't silence him. Even she looked displeased at Flint's tactics.

Unfortunately, Madam Hooch hadn't seen it, her eyes following the new Quaffle play.

Harry's face stung, his glasses nearly knocked loose. Anger flared in him, but he couldn't fight back two sixth-years had the strength advantage.

Fred and George tried to break through to help, but Peter intercepted them yet again.

With uncanny precision, he kept drawing the Bludgers toward them, slipping away at the last second so that the twins were left to fend them off.

Ron's hands clenched as he watched the fierce clash in the sky.

The worst part was, he didn't even know who to cheer for. Hermione, standing nearby, looked just as conflicted.

When Harry was nearly knocked from his broom once more, and Fred finally shook Peter off long enough to fly to his rescue, both Ron and Hermione exhaled in relief.

Ron muttered, scowling, "Peter's unbearable. Is he trying to kill Harry?"Before Hermione could object, a booming voice came from behind them.

"Peter's not the captain he's just followin' the tactics."

"Hagrid? When did you get here?"

"Oh, just now," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Fancy tryin' some o' the rock cakes I brought along?"

The two of them, remembering all too well the last time they'd nearly cracked their teeth on Hagrid's baking, politely declined in unison.