Harry Potter : Bloodraven

The stands exploded with cheers, applause mixing with the electric hum of excitement in the crisp autumn afternoon air. On the stage, a group of witches whirled and danced, their robes shimmering as they moved in perfect harmony to the lively beat of a Muggle song.

"What is this music?" a wizard in the front row asked his companion as his foot tapped along to the rhythm without him realizing it.

"No idea," the other replied, shrugging. "But it's good, isn't it?"

Those of Muggle origins in the crowd exchanged knowing smiles, quietly enjoying the familiarity of the tunes. For everyone else, it was simply magical. The performance held them spellbound, and not one person seemed to care—or even wonder—where the music had come from.

"This is brilliant," said a young witch sitting in the stands reserved for the public. Her eyes sparkled as she clapped along. "I'm glad we decided to buy tickets."

Her companion, a stern-looking pureblood wizard in formal robes, frowned but kept watching. "It's unconventional," he muttered. "But not entirely unpleasant."

The witches ended their performance with a final dazzling move. Golden sparks shot from their wands in perfect unison and lit up the stage like bright fireworks. The entire audience stood, and some even jumped to their feet as they whistled and cheering with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Unconventional or not," the young witch grinned, elbowing her companion, "you liked it."

He gave a reluctant nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps."

Among the crowd of spectators, inside the VIP box, Maverick spread his senses to listen to the various feedback and chuckled quietly to himself.

He had purposely avoided using Veelas or the usual opening ceremony acts typically seen at events like this. Instead, he chose to use humans—well, in this case, some very good-looking witches—to kick off the competition with a stunning performance.

The tunes he chose were of course, from Muggle origins. Because quite frankly, magicals had terrible, terrible taste in music. And his little gamble to use Muggle songs seemed to have been the right call indeed, judging by the reactions.

The applause slowly died down as the performers exited the stage, and then Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the stadium.

"The first match of the competition! On one side, representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we have...

Team Hogwarts!

And on the other side, all the way from the beautiful mountains of France, give it up for...

Team Beauxbatons!"

The crowd applauded for both teams, and after which, Lee Jordan announced the names of the players from each team one by one as they soared into the air. Not long after, the referee's whistle pierced the stadium, signaling the start of the game as the Quaffle was released.

From the very beginning, it was clear that Hogwarts had the upper hand. Their chasers flew in perfect unison, while the Beauxbatons team struggled to keep up as the Quaffle moved seamlessly between their opponents.

The results of Steven's training had clearly paid off. Maverick might not be able to tell, but McGonagall and the other professors who had seen these students play before could clearly notice the difference. Most of all, it was the extremely well-coordinated teamwork among the players, who just a couple of months ago couldn't have possibly done this.

"And that's another goal for Hogwarts!" Lee Jordan's excited voice rang out. "Brilliant! Briliant! They've taken an early lead in just ten minutes... 20 to 0 in favor of Hogwarts!"

The crowd roared as the Hogwarts players regrouped, ready for the next play.

"Very impressive," remarked the Durmstrang headmaster, leaning back in his seat with a thoughtful expression.

Dumbledore smiled at his counterpart, nodding slightly. He was genuinely pleased by the teamwork his students from different houses were showing and was glad that he had agreed to Maverick's proposal for an event such as this. Who knew it would be a game of sport that would bring his school together in the same boat?

The VIP stand where they all sat wasn't quiet either, as some of the players' parents—presumably ancient noble families —watched intently. Right now, they seemed to barely contain their calm demeanors, occasionally jumping to their feet or joining in the cheers and applause. After all, it was their children out on the field.

Maxime, sitting quietly ever since the game began, raised an eyebrow, noticing something. She glanced at Dumbledore and Maverick with a smirk. "Your seeker seems to be taking things very easy. Isn't it because of the additional rule you set for this competition?"

Maverick answered, "That rule was set to prevent the games from dragging on. 150 points scored before the Snitch is caught to declare the winner is a fair rule for all teams. But..."

He observed the boy in question. It was true. He could see that Marcus Flint had indeed been taking it easy, growing complacent with how easily Hogwarts was scoring.

"You're right. He isn't trying very hard to locate the Snitch."

An hour into the game, Hogwarts scored yet another goal. The scoreboard now read 90 to 30, and the crowd—especially the Hogwarts students in the stands—erupted into cheers once more.

"Hogwarts is dominating!" Lee Jordan called out. "With an hour into the game, they've already tripppled the score of their opponents!"

As the match progressed, Marcus Flint, the Hogwarts Seeker, relaxed more and more. It felt too easy, and his attention began to wander slightly. Unfortunately, that moment of carelessness proved costly.

A Bludger came hurtling toward him, smashing into his side before he could react. Flint let out a shout of pain, clutching his ribs as he wobbled on his broom, and the referee immediately blew the whistle, pausing the game.

"Looks like Flint's taken a nasty hit!" Lee Jordan announced. "That's going to hurt!"

From the VIP box, Maxime's lips twitched in faint amusement. "Your seeker had that one coming, Albus."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps, but that would serve him a lesson..."

Over the pitch, Flint seemed to recover quickly from the hit after Madam Pomfrey worked her magic. The game resumed with the referee's whistle, but Coach Steven appeared to have other ideas.

He called Potter to get ready, and five minutes later, Flint was replaced by Hogwarts' substitute Seeker, reluctantly returning to the bench. He didn't voice any arguments, and it became clear that Steven's training wasn't the only thing respected by the players—his decisions carried weight as well.

When Flint sat down, Steven eyed him for a moment before asking sternly, "Do you know why I switched you out?"

The Slytherin senior didn't answer right away, his head lowered and fists clenched under his robes. After a brief pause, he finally raised his head. "I was... careless, Coach. I wasn't taking things seriously."

"That's right. As the Seeker, you're the last person who should behave that way," Steven said sharply. "Just because there's a new rule about ending the game after 150 points doesn't mean you can forget what your job is. Even if the score were 140 to 0 against Hogwarts, your focus should be on catching the Snitch. That's your damn job. No matter how confident you think your chances of winning are, you are not allowed to sit back and take it easy."

Flint nodded silently, taking every word to heart. Though he was arrogant by nature, he held great respect for this famous Quidditch star who was now his coach.

And Steven saw this in Flint's expression, so after the scolding, his tone softened slightly. "The next game with Durmstrang won't be this easy. I need you at your best, so take this time to relax. The second reason I switched you out was to prevent you from sustaining a serious injury before then."

The Slytherin captain's eyes lit up at that, and he nodded resolutely this time. "Thank you, Coach. And... this won't happen again."

Steven gave him a firm nod before turning his attention back to the game. Years of professional Quidditch had honed his vision to near eagle-like precision, and his eyes locked onto the newcomer on the field. Harry Potter was darting around the pitch, frantically searching for the Snitch while effortlessly dodging Bludgers that were being "accidentally" sent his way.

Tsk. These kids are already starting to play dirty, Steven thought to himself.

Meanwhile, murmurs rippled through the crowd at the decision to substitute a senior player for someone so much younger. The British in the stands, of course, knew exactly who Harry Potter was, but many of the international spectators were less familiar with him.

Nonetheless, while Harry was widely recognized as the savior of wizarding Britain, he certainly wasn't seen as the savior of Quidditch.

"And stepping in as the substitute Seeker—Harry Potter!"

But in any case, the moment Lee Jordan's announcement rang out, the crowd instinctively erupted into wild cheers. Harry, with a focused and determined expression, mounted his broom. Without hesitation, he shot into the air, ready to prove himself and turn the game around.

"What a talented little guy..." Maxime commented, her eyes following Harry's swift movements in the air. His flying skills were remarkable, and it wasn't just her who noticed. The entire audience seemed to share the same sentiment. This seemingly young substitute for the Hogwarts team was maneuvering through the skies with a level of skill that rivaled, if not surpassed, that of his much older opponent.

At the same time, some spectators—most likely scouts from professional Quidditch teams—began jotting down notes in their books, their eyes gleaming with interest.

"Is he a descendant of Charlie?" Maxime asked, curious.

Dumbledore nodded lightly. "The last living Potter, sadly."

"What a pity," Maxime remarked after a pause. "A family that has produced at least one Great-Magus in every generation... to die out all because of one madman."

At her words, Karkaroff, seated just a few chairs away, stiffened. The mention of his old master by an Archmage was enough to unnerve him, though he quickly tried to hide his reaction. However, his subtle discomfort did not go unnoticed by the others. Dumbledore, Maxime, and Maverick all caught the flicker of tension in his posture.

But none of them said anything. Maverick, for one, didn't care, and it seemed neither did Dumbledore nor Maxime. To them, Karkaroff was just a small fish that had slipped away back then. And a little fish, no matter how squirmy, was still just a little fish.

Time passed slowly, and the Hogwarts team inched closer to scoring the 150 points needed for victory. However, just after their 12th goal, bringing their total to 120 points, their Seeker, Harry Potter, suddenly began displaying some unusual movements.

"What the..." Harry murmured under his breath as his broomstick, which had been under his full control until now, started feeling as though something had latched onto it. He scanned his surroundings, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Woah!" he yelped when his broom made a sudden, violent movement, veering left and right as if it had come alive and was trying to throw him off. Harry held on tightly with all his might, assuming it was a malfunction and trying desperately to regain control.

"What's going on with the Hogwarts Seeker?"

"I don't know... Looks like he's lost control."

"Tsk. Figures. He's just a kid—not ready for the competitive stage yet."

The crowd murmured in confusion, some scrutinizing the situation while others voiced their concern, as more people began to notice the abnormality with Harry's broomstick. However, the referee didn't blow the whistle to pause the game—he couldn't. According to the rules, unless the player was injured or separated from their broomstick, intervention wasn't permitted.

The game continued, and this mishap seemed to breathe new life into the Beauxbatons team. They began pressing the Hogwarts players harder, gaining momentum as the Hogwarts team struggled to stay focused while constantly glancing at Harry.

"Interesting..." Maxime commented, her eyes narrowing in amusement as she watched the scene unfold. She turned to Dumbledore and Maverick. "Looks like someone nasty slipped through your security..."

Unlike most of the audience, the three Arch-Magi in the VIP stand could sense the magic affecting Harry's broom. It wasn't a malfunction, and they knew it—it was a curse.

"Aren't you going to pause the game, Albus?" Maxime asked.

Instead of responding, Dumbledore glanced at Maverick, silently seeking his reaction. Unlike Maxime, Dumbledore knew Maverick could also sense what was happening and seemed to defer to his opinion.

Has old Voldy decided to act already? Maverick thought while spreading his Magical Sense in an attempt to locate the culprit. He was nearly certain this was Voldemort's doing. Seeing Harry on the field must have tempted him to seize the opportunity to harm him.

Found you!

Maverick locked onto a man sitting inconspicuously at the very back of the public stands. The man's mouth moved rapidly, clearly chanting some dark incantation. Unlike the original timeline, Snape wasn't present to counter the curse, and Hermione Granger wasn't there to intervene and "accidentally" save the day.

No matter, Maverick thought, deciding it was time to teach this vile piece of work a lesson. And this was a perfect opportunity to test his newly acquired talent, Nature Energy Manipulation, instead of relying on conventional magic.

Focusing on the bench Quirrell sat on, Maverick acted decisively.

A moment later, Quirrell's chanting came to an abrupt halt. His eyes bulged, his mouth gaped in a silent cry, and his body stiffened unnaturally. A feminine squeak escaped his lips as tears welled up in his eyes.

Back in the VIP stand, Maverick smirked as he watched Quirrell's reaction through his Magical-Sense. That's right. He let Professor Quirrell experience his new disaster-level magic, which he had shamelessly plagiarized from a studio next door. He called it Hogwarts' Hidden Secret Technique: One Thousand Years of Death.

(Author's Note: For those unfamiliar with the reference—let's just say Quirrell might have a hard time sitting comfortably or taking a dump for the foreseeable future.)

"Looks like Harry Potter's back in the game, ladies and gentlemen!" Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the stadium, bringing the audience back to the action as Harry regained full control of his broom.

"But in that brief moment, Beauxbatons had somehow managed to score two more goals, bringing the score from 130–30 to 130–50. Unfortunately, my dear friends from France, unless your team somehow catches the Snitch, this game is all but lost to you."

The Hogwarts students, along with the majority of the audience, cheered loudly, seemingly agreeing with the commentator's remark. It wasn't biased, just a fact. Unless the Beauxbatons team managed to catch the Snitch, they had almost no chance of a comeback.

Harry, now steady and refocused, got back into the game almost immediately. Flying swiftly, he dodged a bludger with ease, and as he made a turn, his sharp eyes caught a golden glint darting across the pitch, not too far away.

The Snitch.

His eyes widened briefly before narrowing with determination.

Woosh!

—————————

Author's Note:

Just a quick update — up to Chapter 131 is already available on P AT r30n!

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic