Quidditch.
Invented in the eleventh century by the witch Gertie Keddle, this wizarding sport has remained wildly popular to this day.
It's said the inspiration came from a swamp-based game, though after several iterations, the modern rules are vastly different from the original.
The game is played in an oval stadium where two teams try to score by sending the Quaffle through hoops guarded by the opposing team. Meanwhile, each team assigns one Seeker to chase the Golden Snitch.
The moment the Snitch is caught, the match ends, awarding 150 points to the team of the Seeker who captured it. The final score then determines the winner.
How best to describe the frenzy surrounding this sport?
Quidditch's influence on the wizarding world far surpasses that of football on Muggles. It has practically become a cultural phenomenon, almost religious in nature.
From the Quidditch World Cup held every four years, to the sky-high prices of broomsticks fueling a massive commercial chain, to the goblin-run gambling rings spread across the globe…
There was even a brawl in 1994 between Irish and Bulgarian fans after the World Cup match, with spell-slinging and hexes flying over the final result.
In short—
Even the young witches and wizards at Hogwarts were not spared from the craze.
Especially on this Saturday, when the first Quidditch Cup match of the year would see Gryffindor facing off against Slytherin.
"Oh, this match is hardly worth watching. Everyone knows Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance against Slytherin. Those dumb lions haven't won the Cup in seven years!"
In the Great Hall, Draco was the first to speak.
What he didn't realize, though, was that his words didn't just sour the expressions of the Gryffindors.
To the students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—who had an even worse record in Quidditch—the jab stung just as much.
Draco raised his voice, making sure a particular someone could hear:
"I heard Gryffindor has a new Seeker this year? Hope he doesn't break his neck during the game... Oh, my bad—I forgot he wasn't even selected for today's match!"
Laughter erupted from the Slytherin table.
Harry felt his face flush. He shot up from his seat.
"Shut it, Malfoy!"
His words came fast and sharp. "At least I made it onto the Quidditch team! Unlike you, who just sits around spouting nonsense!"
Draco's expression turned cold.
"You mean, got in through cheating and favoritism from the professors? If I were you, I wouldn't be shamelessly bragging about it."
Harry was left speechless.
To some extent, Draco wasn't wrong—he had indeed been handpicked by Professor McGonagall to join the team.
Unable to bear it, Ron stepped in to back him up.
"Hmph! Sounds like you're just jealous of Harry!"
"Jealous?"
Draco sneered. He would never admit to anything like that.
"Weasley, has your family gone so poor that you've started pawning off your brain too? Jealous of Scarhead? Don't make me laugh!"
"What else could it be?" Hermione cut in.
She usually disapproved of Gryffindor's frequent rule-breaking that often cost them house points.
But unlike last time when Ron had provoked Draco, this time it was clearly Draco who started the trouble.
Hermione's retort was sharp.
"If you're that upset about it, why don't you ask Professor Snape to pull some strings for you too?"
"Or maybe you already know that you're not even on Harry's level—so all you can do is sit there and spew bitterness!"
"Enough!" Draco shouted furiously.
Looking at Hermione's determined face, something in his mind seemed to snap. He pulled out his wand and spat the words:
"You filthy Mudblood!"
The hall fell silent.
No one expected such a word to be spoken aloud in Hogwarts.
Hermione froze, clearly shocked. She already understood the implications of that word all too well.
With everyone staring at her, her eyes began to tear up.
"Malfoy! Take that back!" Harry and Ron drew their wands, faces red with fury.
But they were outpaced by two green "eggs" flying through the air.
The Weasley twins had already leapt onto the table, tossing dungbombs left and right.
A cloud of black smoke quickly covered the Slytherin table, accompanied by an unbearable stench.
"Bastards!"
Marcus Flint, Slytherin Quidditch captain, was choking on the fumes. He clutched his throat and furiously hurled a °Densaugeo° spell in retaliation.
The pre-match atmosphere had reached a boiling point.
As the first spell was cast, chaos erupted. Colorful spells flew in every direction.
The spellfire spread so wildly that even the neutral Ravenclaws and the peacekeeping Hufflepuffs were dragged into the mess.
At the Ravenclaw table—
Dawn let out a sigh and set his plate down with a dark expression.
Because of the Mandrake leaf in his mouth, he had to eat much slower than usual.
By the time the dungbombs went off, he hadn't even finished half his food.
He ducked two spells that nearly grazed his head and used his wand to bat away two prank items—whether thrown accidentally or deliberately by the Weasley twins, he couldn't tell.
Pushing back his chair, Dawn prepared to retreat from the battlefield.
But just before leaving, he caught a glimpse of Neville, curled up on the ground with his head covered, eyes shut tight.
After a moment's hesitation, Dawn cast a Summoning Charm on Neville's robe and pulled him over.
Thud.
Neville, dragged in a straight line, crashed headfirst into a table leg.
Dawn's lips twitched. With zero sincerity, he offered a quick, "Sorry."
"I-it's fine…"
Neville nearly burst into tears from the pain, but still looked gratefully at his friend.
"Thanks so much, Dawn!"
He climbed to his feet, rubbing his forehead, then nervously glanced around the increasingly chaotic hall.
"Dawn, shouldn't we go find a professor?"
"No need to panic. With all this noise, I'm sure they've already heard."
Dawn replied nonchalantly.
He noticed Neville's robes were terribly wrinkled and, unable to resist his neat-freak tendencies, reached out and gave them a few pats.
Satisfied, he nodded.
"Alright. If you're planning to watch the Quidditch match, now's the time to grab a good seat."
"You're… not coming?" Neville asked, a little hesitant due to Dawn's sudden gesture.
"Nope. I'm not into Quidditch," Dawn waved him off and walked away.
However—
Despite what he said, Dawn was planning to head over to the stadium entrance near the end of the match.
He wanted to ask Professor McGonagall a few questions about Animagus transformation—something he had forgotten to ask Dumbledore the day before.
And while he was at it, he intended to apply to join the Transfiguration Club.
After all, everyone knew—
As a die-hard Quidditch fan, Professor McGonagall would never miss a match.
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