The real Herry Potter

Harry hovered high above the Quidditch pitch, watching the brutal match unfold beneath him. Gryffindor had managed to pull ahead in points, but it had come at a cost. The Slytherin team's relentless fouls left several Gryffindor players injured, and the game was growing more vicious by the minute. But Harry's attention wasn't solely on the score. He kept scanning the sky for the Snitch, knowing that one catch could end the game and spare his team from further harm.

Then, without warning, his Nimbus 2000 began to wobble violently beneath him. At first, it was just a slight tremor, but it quickly escalated into a full-blown battle as the broomstick bucked and jerked uncontrollably, as if it had a mind of its own.

Harry's heart raced. He knew brooms, especially ones as well-crafted as his Nimbus 2000. There was no way it would malfunction on its own, especially not one that was practically brand new. This wasn't a simple technical issue—someone was tampering with his broom. And not just anyone—whoever it was had to be incredibly powerful, as the magic holding the broomstick stable was now under attack.

As the broom twisted and pitched, Harry clung to it with all his might, his knuckles white as he fought to stay on. Every time he thought he'd regained control, the broom jerked again, nearly sending him tumbling through the air. There was no time to figure out who was behind it—he just needed to survive.

But deep down, Harry was certain he knew. It had to be Snape. He'd suspected the Potions Master for days now. Snape was a former Death Eater, after all, and in Harry's mind, that was reason enough to distrust him. Snape had escaped Azkaban by playing both sides, and Harry had overheard enough to know that Snape had already tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone once. Now, it seemed, he was trying to eliminate Harry altogether.

The broom spun wildly, sending Harry careening through the air. He was barely holding on, his legs dangling as he struggled to keep his grip. Below, his Gryffindor teammates were trying to help, but it was impossible to get close. The broom was flying too erratically, dipping and diving in unpredictable patterns.

In the midst of the chaos, Slytherin took advantage of Gryffindor's distraction. They scored goal after goal, closing the gap as the Gryffindor team was too focused on Harry's plight to defend their hoops. The crowd gasped as another bludger came dangerously close to knocking Harry off his broom.

From the stands, Hermione was frantic, desperately flipping through a book of spells. She had an idea of what was happening but wasn't sure how to stop it. Meanwhile, Neville and the rest of Order of the Stars were on their feet, shouting and pointing, trying to get someone's attention to help Harry.

Harry, however, had no time to think about any of that. His world had shrunk to the broom beneath him and the dizzying sky around him. He clung to the broomstick with all his strength, determined not to let go. If he fell from this height, it would be fatal.

Tracy Davis had been watching the Quidditch match with her new omni-oculars, fascinated by how the lenses zoomed in on every detail of the players' movements. She had been tracking Harry as his broom bucked violently when something strange caught her eye. Her omni-oculars zoomed in on the stands near the edge of the pitch, and there she saw it—Professor Snape, muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on Harry.

"He's jinxing Harry's broom!" she gasped, lowering the omni-oculars in shock.

Daphne Greengrass, sitting beside her, frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Look for yourself," Tracy handed her the omni-oculars. "I'm positive."

Daphne took the omni-oculars, focusing them on Snape. Sure enough, his wand was out, and his lips were moving as if he were casting a spell. She pursed her lips, thinking quickly. "This is bad," she said. "If Snape's really trying to kill Harry, we need to do something. But how do we deal with Snape? He's our Head of House, and he's dangerous when crossed."

Tracy nodded. "Exactly. We can't just walk up to him and stop him—he'd hex us on the spot, and there'd be consequences."

Daphne sighed, glancing around at the rest of the Order of the Stars. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were still absorbed in the game, unaware of what was happening. "We need to think this through. Maybe we can distract him or—"

Before Daphne could finish, Hermione, sitting over with the Gryffindors, had noticed the same thing. Without hesitation, she leaped to her feet, ignoring the noise of the match around her, and dashed toward Snape's direction. She wasn't one to sit idly by while someone she cared about was in danger. The bookish side of her mind screamed about the potential consequences of what she was about to do, but in that moment, her loyalty to Harry overrode everything else.

By the time Daphne and Tracy had started discussing possible strategies, Hermione had already made her way around the stands. As she reached Snape's section, she crouched down, moving stealthily until she was within range. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her wand hand remained steady. With a quick flick of her wrist, she whispered, "Incendio," sending a small flame alight on the hem of Snape's cloak.

She didn't wait to see the results. As the fire began to spread, Hermione turned and ran as fast as she could, weaving through the crowd before anyone could notice had already crashed to someone in the stand but she didn't even stop to see the person she knocked over. She nearly crashed into a group of Ravenclaws as she bolted, but her small size and quick movements allowed her to slip past them before they could see who had bumped into them.

Back in the stands, Snape felt a sudden heat on his back. Startled, he glanced down and saw the flames licking up his cloak. With a curse, he whipped out his wand and quickly doused the fire, but the momentary distraction had been enough.

The curse that had been jinxing Harry's broom faltered, and Harry, who had been clinging to the broom for dear life, suddenly felt the broom level out beneath him. His heart was still pounding, but the violent bucking had stopped.

The crowd cheered as the game continued, oblivious to the danger that had just passed. In the chaos of the match, Snape had no time to figure out what had just happened, and by the time he turned to search the stands, Hermione was long gone, safely hidden among the other Gryffindors, breathless but relieved.

Tracy and Daphne, watching the whole thing unfold from their vantage point, exchanged a look.

"Well," Daphne said slowly, "that was… effective."

"Remind me to never cross Hermione Granger," Tracy muttered, shaking her head in admiration.

Harry, who had barely regained control of his broom after that terrifying ordeal, now felt a surge of defiance. He was sure Snape had tried to jinx him, and the rage coursing through him spurred him into action. No longer focused on just catching the Snitch, he began flying aggressively, diving into the Slytherin formations, scattering them, and disrupting their plays.

The Slytherin team, startled by Harry's reckless maneuvers, struggled to maintain their formation. Their Beaters tried to retaliate, sending Bludgers hurtling toward him, but Harry's years of secret broomstick practice made him a master of evasion. He dodged the incoming Bludgers with sharp, precise movements, darting through the sky like a blur, determined to show Slytherin they wouldn't win through underhanded tactics.

And then he saw it—a flash of gold. The Snitch was hovering near the Gryffindor goalposts, and Adrian Pusey, the Slytherin Seeker, had already spotted it and was in hot pursuit. Harry's heart raced as he leaned forward on his broom, pushing his Nimbus 2000 to its limits. His superior broom and smaller frame gave him an edge in speed, and he quickly closed the gap between him and Adrian.

Pusey, sensing Harry gaining on him, urged his broom faster, but Harry wasn't one to back down. As they drew closer to the Snitch, Harry made a split-second decision. Instead of trying to outrace Adrian, he leaped off his broom entirely, launching himself into the air.

The crowd gasped in shock as Harry soared through the sky, his hand outstretched toward the Snitch. He caught it mid-air, his fingers closing around the tiny, fluttering ball just before he collided with Adrian Pusey. The two Seekers tumbled through the air, Harry using Pusey as a cushion as they crashed to the ground. It wasn't a hard fall—more of a slow, awkward tumble—but it left them both dazed, lying in a heap of limbs on the Quidditch pitch.

For a moment, everything was silent as the crowd waited to see what had happened. Then, as Harry sat up, he realized something odd—the Snitch was in his mouth. He spit it out into his hand, and with a grin of triumph, he held it up for everyone to see.

The stadium erupted into cheers. Gryffindor had won! The score flashed on the board—300 to 180—and the roar of the Gryffindors drowned out all other sounds. The Order of the Stars members were on their feet, even those from Slytherin, though they wore grim expressions.

Fred and George Weasley hoisted Harry into the air as the Gryffindor team swarmed him, celebrating their victory. The Slytherin team looked furious, but there was nothing they could do. Harry had caught the Snitch fair and square, and Gryffindor had won the match.

As Harry was carried off the field, still holding the Snitch, he caught a glimpse of Snape in the distance, his face an unreadable mask. Harry's suspicions were stronger than ever—Snape had definitely tried to kill him, and it wasn't just about Quidditch. Whatever was happening with the Philosopher's Stone, Harry knew that Snape was involved, and this victory felt like the first battle won in a much bigger war.

But for now, he let himself bask in the moment. Gryffindor had won the match, and he had caught the Snitch in a way no one would soon forget.

After the intense Quidditch match, Harry made his way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, always efficient and stern, checked him over quickly. Despite his mid-air collision, Harry had escaped with only a few bruises and aches, thanks to his well-timed landing on Adrian Pusey. Adrian, on the other hand, had taken the brunt of the fall and was covered in various bruises and cuts. Madam Pomfrey tutted as she applied healing paste to his wounds and made him drink several potions.

"You're lucky you didn't break anything, Potter," she said as she checked his arms. "Quidditch is a dangerous game, but I suppose you're getting used to near-death experiences already."

Harry chuckled weakly, still feeling the adrenaline in his veins. After a final round of treatment, Madam Pomfrey declared him good as new. Neville had come to escort him back, looking excited and flustered at the same time.

"C'mon, Harry! You won't believe what's happening in the common room!" Neville said as they left the hospital wing.

When they returned to the Gryffindor common room, Harry was met with an explosion of noise. A full-blown celebration was underway. The atmosphere was electric—everyone was cheering, laughing, and dancing, all reveling in their hard-won victory over Slytherin. It was a rare and glorious occasion. Slytherin had dominated Quidditch for the past two years, and this was the first time Gryffindor had managed to beat them.

Fred and George Weasley were at the center of the festivities, grinning from ear to ear. Somehow, they had managed to sneak alcohol into the party, and the bottles were being passed around freely, adding to the wildness of the evening. Everyone was having a good time, and Harry, seeing the jubilation around him, decided to kick things up a notch.

He called out softly, "Norky."

The house-elf appeared instantly, dressed in his usual simple tunic, bowing low to Harry. "What can Norky do for Master Harry?"

Harry leaned in, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. "Bring one of the magical wine barrels, the small one. We need something special for this party."

Norky's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Of course, Master Harry. Norky will bring it right away!"

In the blink of an eye, Norky disappeared and returned moments later with a small, intricately carved barrel. The wood was polished to a deep sheen, and faint runes glowed softly on its surface. The barrel was filled with a magical wine made from rare enchanted fruit that had unique refreshment properties. The moment Norky placed it in the middle of the room, the rich, fruity aroma filled the air, catching everyone's attention.

"What's that, Harry?" Ron asked, sniffing the air.

Harry grinned. "Something special. Try it."

Fred and George were the first to fill their cups, and the moment they took a sip, their eyes widened in astonishment.

"This—this is amazing!" Fred exclaimed, his voice carrying over the noise. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted!"

Word spread quickly, and soon, everyone in the common room had a cup of the magical wine in hand. The taste was unlike anything they had ever experienced. It was sweet but not too sweet, with a refreshing aftertaste that seemed to revitalize anyone who drank it. The more they drank, the more energized and carefree they felt. It wasn't just wine—it was a magical experience in itself.

Laughter echoed through the room, and the party grew even wilder as everyone celebrated. The magical wine had a way of lifting spirits without causing any negative effects, and soon the whole Gryffindor house was toasting to Harry and their victory.

For a moment, Harry let himself relax, surrounded by his friends and housemates, enjoying the festive atmosphere. It was a rare moment of peace and joy amidst the chaos of Hogwarts. He knew there were bigger challenges ahead, but for now, all that mattered was that Gryffindor had won, and they were all together.

And as the night wore on, Harry found himself wondering what else awaited them in the coming weeks. The Philosopher's Stone was still hidden somewhere within the castle, and there was still the matter of Snape. But for tonight, he pushed those thoughts aside and simply enjoyed the victory.