Harry Potter : Bloodraven-Chapter 113: The Battle for Glory (I) (CH - 133)

April 25th, Saturday—the weather was particularly nice today. The sun hung warm and bright over Hogwarts, the kind of golden light that made the ancient castle's stones glow. At sixteen degrees, it was just cool enough that your robes didn't feel stuffy, but warm enough not to hurry indoors.

Beyond the castle grounds, the Quidditch pitch stretched out in perfect condition, its freshly trimmed grass gleaming emerald under the cloudless sky. The three golden hoops at either end shone brightly against the blue sky, catching the sunlight with every slight breeze. It was the kind of day that made you want to grab a broomstick and take flight—not a single cloud dared to spoil the view.

And it was the perfect weather for the final match of the inter-school Quidditch tournament, set to take place at Hogwarts on this very day.

After lunch, nearly the entire school—clad in scarlet and gold—poured toward the Quidditch stadium, clutching Omnioculars and waving enchanted flags that rippled in the sunlight.

The atmosphere seemed even livelier than the last round, with most visitors clad in Hogwarts or Durmstrang jerseys, much like a Quidditch World Cup match, shows just how captivated everyone was by the event.

The stadium too looked even grander, with towering new stands surrounding the pitch. Enchanted banners fluttered overhead, each displaying the colors of the four schools competing in the tournament.

Temporary Floo points flickered nonstop, bringing visitors from across Europe, along with delegations and journalists. Of course, security for such an occasion had to be top-notch. Personnel in black armbands were stationed everywhere, managing the crowd, checking tickets, and directing guests with smooth, practiced efficiency.

By half-past one, not a single seat was left empty. The stadium roared with competing chants—"HOG-WARTS! HOG-WARTS!" from the home crowd, met by the heavy, rhythmic pounding of staffs from Durmstrang supporters.

While the general audience buzzed with anticipation, the VIP stands were also fully booked, with guests entering continuously and most of the reserved seats already occupied.

At Dumbledore's invitation, the ministers from all four participating countries sat in the front row alongside the deans of the four participating schools. Behind them were the delegations from each nation, followed by nobles, influential figures, and special invitees.

Maverick sat in the third row, with Isabella beside him, who had come at his invitation to watch this grand event he had personally brought to life. Seated beside them were Lord and Lady Greengrass, along with several other nobles from Lord Greengrass's faction—people who, technically, now followed Maverick as their leader.

This wasn't the first time Maverick was meeting with the other lords of the neutral faction following Greengrass. He had met with them a few times after bringing Lord Greengrass under his banner.

Shortly after Maverick's first meeting with Greengrass, the latter arranged a gathering with his faction lords and introduced Maverick as the new leader. There was, of course, some initial resistance—mainly due to his age and doubts about his rank being an archmage—but a quick, 'persuasive' demonstration soon won them over, and they all fell into line.

Beside the lords from the neutral faction, many other pureblood nobles were also present, and not just from Britain but from across Europe, all gathered in the same box.

By now, it was no secret who the mastermind behind this grand event was, and these prominent figures in attendance recognized Maverick's brilliance.

The benefits for him were clear—his reputation would soar, and the potential financial gains were equally substantial.

---

Meanwhile, in the Hogwarts team locker room, the players had already changed into their gear, put on their goggles, and gathered around as the team leaders gave a final pre-match speech, their focus sharp on the game ahead.

"This is it, guys... We're not just playing for the win—we're playing to make history! We will not back down! We WILL win!"

Wood shouted loudly. Still, despite his excitement, he was extremely nervous. He knew very well how strong their opponents were.

After Wood, Marcus, fired up, added his own remarks, and then Steven gave his final advice to everyone.

"Our opponents... some of them are even close to professional level, especially Viktor Krum, who's rumored soon to be selected for his national team... so don't take this lightly!"

"But even without Krum, their team will be tough. So stick to my game plan, work together, and if there's a chance, do your best to knock Krum off his broom."

His eyes fell on Harry, and he said solemnly, "Potter, if the game drags on or if anything happens to Marcus, marking Krum will be your responsibility... so be ready to step in at any moment." He glanced at the rest of the reserve team. "That goes for all of you as well. Be prepared—I have a feeling today's game will get ugly very fast."

"ARE YOU READY?" Steven shouted, fire in his voice.

The team pounded their chests and roared in response.

"YES, COACH!"

"Good!" Steven grinned. "Then let's go... under the witness of all of Europe, let's go and crush Durmstrang together!"

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"Crush Durmstrang!"

"Crush Durmstrang!"

The opening spectacle lasted about half an hour, filled with live, heart-pounding beats, thunderous music, dazzling dances, and roaring crowds.

Just as the entertainment ended, the players from both competing teams emerged with high morale, walked out of the tunnel, mounted their brooms, and soared into the air.

A clamorous wave of sound rushed towards them as the surrounding stands erupted in enthusiastic cheers.

Countless flags flew through the air as young wizards waved banners painted with the Hogwarts or Durmstrang crests, or held signs bearing various hyped-up slogans. Their chants blended together, rising into a tidal wave of encouragement for both teams.

...

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GIVE IT UP FOR YOUR FINALISTS... HOGWAAAAARTS AND DURMSTRANG!"

Lee Jordan's enthusiastic voice boomed across the stadium as he welcomed the teams.

Hearing Jordan's announcement and the deafening chants from the stands, the players couldn't help but grip their broom handles tighter. The crowd was massive, the noise overwhelming, the expectations immense—and both teams stared each other down fiercely.

The referee's whistle shrieked, and the game exploded into motion as the players shot toward their positions.

True to most predictions, the game was heated from the start.

The Durmstrang Chasers relentlessly weaved through Hogwarts' defense, pushing to score. The Hogwarts team could only fight back desperately, with every pass, every steal, and every shot feeling like a heart-pounding struggle.

Each attack and counterattack was like a miniature duel, with both sides battling fiercely for control of the Quaffle.

Meanwhile, the Beaters swung their bats like madman, hammering Bludgers toward the opposing Seekers. Every strike was a potential knockout blow.

Marcus and Krum became prime targets—Bludgers hurtled at them again and again, forcing them to focus on evasion. A single moment of hesitation could send them smashing off their brooms.

But overall, one team was clearly outperforming the other.

As the game progressed, Hogwarts' score gradually fell behind Durmstrang's, trailing by thirty to forty points on average.

Time flew by, and before anyone realized it, the match had already lasted over two hours.

Marcus panted heavily on his broom—and he wasn't the only one. Players on both sides showed signs of fatigue, with some already substituted by their coaches. After all, they were still children, lacking the stamina of adult wizards to maintain such intensity for long.

Marcus searched frantically—where the hell was that damn Snitch?!

He glanced at the scoreboard: Durmstrang needed only two more goals to reach 150 points, while Hogwarts still needed six. Things weren't looking good.

Shit!

He cursed, yanking his broom upward just in time to dodge a rocketing Bludger.

Damn it.

"MARCUS!" Wood bellowed from the goalposts. "Either get your ass in the game or SWITCH WITH POTTER!"

Marcus considered it for a second. Wood was right—he was exhausted, pushing himself beyond his limits. But if he stepped away now, he might not get another chance to return.

The new rule about the 150-point limit didn't seem so great now, unlike during their first match at the start of the competition last year.

He scanned the pitch one last time, hoping to spot the glittering little bastard, but no luck. After another futile sweep, he sighed and glanced at his coach.

There was no other choice. He could still play, but not at his best—he was far too drained. And then there was Potter. Young as he was, Marcus couldn't deny his talent. The kid was good—extremely good, as he had proven in the very first game.

Unbeknownst to him, Marcus was thinking of the good of the team—considering even the possibility of swapping with a Gryffindor. A thought he would have never entertained just a year ago. Him, a proud pureblood, swapping places with a Gryffindor raised by Muggles? Never.

But over the course of the year, he had changed. He had grown closer to teammates from all houses, whether he admitted it or not. The Muggle-borns on the team might not be his best friends—his pureblood upbringing still ran deep—but he no longer viewed them with the same prejudice as before.

Steven caught Marcus looking and couldn't help but smile proudly. Without a word, he knew exactly what Marcus was thinking. It was unexpected to see this proud boy take the initiative—but at last, he looked like a leader.

He turned to Harry. "POTTER! Get over here!"

Harry knew it was time. He had been warming up for the past two hours, keeping his blood pumping and muscles primed. He sprinted over and stopped beside Steven.

"Potter, you have one job. I don't care if you catch it with your hands or swallow it whole... GET THAT SNITCH before they score two more goals!"

Harry gave a resolute nod, then high-fived his teammates on the bench, and finally Marcus, who had flown down.

"Never thought I'd say this to a Gryffindor," Marcus muttered, gripping Harry's hand tightly. "But I believe in you. Win this."

Harry's eyes burned with determination.

He nodded confidently, kicked off, and rocketed into the sky like a bolt of lightning.

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