Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

"Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!"

Madam Hooch's sharp whistle pierced the air as players from Hufflepuff and Slytherin began shoving each other mid-field.

"Boooo!"

Jeers erupted from the stands as Hufflepuff and Slytherin supporters hurled taunts at one another. Those closest to the scuffle were practically spitting in their opponents' faces.

It wasn't until Professors Snape and Sprout stood up and sternly rebuked their respective house members that the spectators finally calmed down, averting a full-blown brawl.

Meanwhile, on the pitch, Madam Hooch gathered both teams and delivered a stern warning.

"I don't want to see anything like that again! If it happens a second time, I'll stop the match, and both teams will be handed a forfeit! Is that clear?"

Kirk, ever quick to defend his team, raised Wentworth's hand and protested loudly.

"It was Marcus who attacked Wentworth first! Look at this—Marcus squeezed his hand so hard it's swollen red! Poor Wentworth is just a first-year, only eleven years old! His hands are vital to his future—like the girl he loves! And now, look what Marcus has done!"

Wentworth initially felt touched by Kirk's defense, but the exaggerated comparison quickly had him groaning inwardly, three metaphorical black lines appearing on his forehead.

Madam Hooch frowned as she inspected Wentworth's reddened hand. She turned to Marcus Flint, giving him a pointed warning. Marcus hastily insisted, "It was an accident! I didn't mean to!"

But as Marcus returned to his team, his mind raced. He recalled the mysterious letter from the package, specifically one chilling line:

"Eliminate Wentworth, and victory belongs to Slytherin."

At the time, Marcus had scoffed. A Hufflepuff first-year? What trouble could he possibly cause? Yet, seeing Wentworth now, an unexplainable surge of hostility filled him. He didn't just want to beat Wentworth—he wanted to crush him.

Before Marcus could dwell further, Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, signaling the start of the match.

As the game commenced, chaos erupted across the field. Bludgers whizzed past at dangerous speeds, Chasers wove between players, and Keepers stood poised to guard their hoops.

Professor McGonagall, seated beside Dumbledore in the stands, watched the escalating tension with a scowl.

"This is exactly why we changed Slytherin's first match from Gryffindor to Hufflepuff," she grumbled. "We wanted to avoid this kind of aggression. And yet, here we are!"

Dumbledore's gaze, however, remained fixed on Wentworth. Adjusting his half-moon spectacles, he responded with quiet insight.

"This year's Hufflepuff has found hope, Minerva. And hope, while empowering, also inspires courage to face any challenge."

Back on the pitch, Wentworth had barely begun searching for the Golden Snitch when a Bludger came hurtling toward him. Fortunately, Hufflepuff's Beater reacted swiftly, deflecting the ball just in time to prevent an early injury.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Wentworth called out gratefully.

The Beater waved off the thanks, keeping his eyes locked on the Bludger.

"Don't worry about it! Your job is the Snitch—leave the rest to us! Kirk made it clear: my mission is to protect you. So go on and do your thing!"

Moved by his teammate's dedication, Wentworth nodded. But before he could respond, another Bludger, struck fiercely by a Slytherin Beater, shot toward him.

This time, Wentworth, growing accustomed to the pace of the match, dodged on his own. He executed a sharp mid-air spin, leaving the Bludger to sail harmlessly past.

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin stands, however, as Marcus Flint seized the opportunity to score the first goal of the match. Slytherin now led 10-0.

Flying past Wentworth with a smug grin, Marcus jeered,

"Well, well, if it isn't Hogwarts' prodigy! Enjoying your little stroll around the pitch? I don't think I've seen you fly more than a few steps!"

Laughter erupted from the Slytherin team as they zipped past. Wentworth ignored the taunts, his eyes scanning the field. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and without warning, he dove sharply toward the ground.

Marcus blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Realizing what was happening, he barked at Slytherin's Seeker,

"Quick, follow him! He's seen the Snitch!"

The Slytherin Seeker accelerated, chasing after Wentworth. Unable to spot the Snitch himself, he focused intently on Wentworth's movements, determined to catch up.

Wentworth extended his hand as if reaching for something, spurring the Slytherin Seeker to push his broom to its limits. Convinced the Snitch was just within reach, the Seeker surged forward.

But just as he was about to overtake Wentworth, the Hufflepuff Seeker suddenly veered sharply upward, blocking the Seeker's line of sight.

Too late, the Slytherin Seeker realized he was on a collision course with one of Hufflepuff's goalposts.

"WHAM!"

Gasps and cries filled the air as the Seeker crashed into the gleaming silver pole, tumbling off his broom.

Nearby, Wentworth circled back, hovering beside Marcus Flint with a faintly amused expression.

"What a pity it wasn't you," he remarked.

Before Marcus could respond, Wentworth flew off, calling over his shoulder,

"Marcus, you really know how to sabotage your own teammates!"

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