Lee Jordan's voice grew louder and louder as everyone rose to their feet, cheering.
"Score! She did it! Ten to zero, Gryffindor leads!
"Win or lose, Angelina, you incredible girl, I'll wash your laundry for a month!"
William stood and clapped. He'd never seen such an exciting Quidditch match. From the outset, both teams had shown excellent tactical prowess.
Seekers could indeed make a massive impact in Quidditch since catching the Golden Snitch brought one hundred and fifty points and ended the game. But Quidditch wasn't a sport for lone heroes.
It was a team sport, with Beaters wielding Bludgers to keep opposing Seekers off their game.
With over seven hundred fouls possible in Quidditch, catching the Snitch wasn't as easy as it sounded.
Furthermore, although a hundred and fifty points seemed significant, some matches lasted for months. Even in this year's Quidditch World Cup Final, the match had stretched on for three days and nights.
In games like that, one hundred and fifty points seemed far less crucial. The main scoring was all about team coordination and the Chasers' goals.
William pressed his binoculars firmly to his eyes.
Hufflepuff scored again, narrowing the gap.
"They've changed tactics, an eagle-headed attack formation—smooth transition!" Lee Jordan explained, showing off his own tactical insight as he expertly broke down Gryffindor's new lineup.
William could see the three Gryffindor Chasers flying tightly together, bearing down on the Hufflepuff players.
Angelina feinted a charge upward with the Quaffle, pulling the Hufflepuff Chaser Warrington away before tossing the ball to Neuman.
One of Hufflepuff's Beaters, Walcott, swung his bat and sent a Bludger hurtling toward Neuman. Neuman ducked beneath it and hurled the Quaffle toward Angelina, who swooped below to catch it—
"Angelina scores again!" Lee Jordan bellowed, and the crowd erupted, sending tremors through the pitch.
Cho leaped up and down, wildly waving her arms.
The game continued with both teams locked in close combat for forty minutes, the score tight as ever.
Hagrid roared in excitement, "This is the best final in years. Not like the past few years when the Slytherins would ruin the game with fouls!"
Slytherin had a reputation for their "tactical" fouls, which helped them claim the cup multiple times. But Hufflepuff and Gryffindor played far cleaner—no elbows, no intentional collisions.
Suddenly, a piercing phoenix cry echoed above the Hogwarts castle.
A silver figure broke through the window and soared gracefully to the ground, head held high in regal poise.
It was a phoenix, a silver phoenix—Dumbledore's Patronus.
Glowing brilliantly, the phoenix landed in the middle of the pitch, spreading its wings majestically.
With Dumbledore's deep, calm voice, the Patronus spoke:
"The final is suspended. Under the protection of your professors, all students are to return immediately to their common rooms."
Then, in a flash, the phoenix vanished as if it had never been there.
Professor McGonagall hesitated, glancing back toward the castle.
Dumbledore rarely used his Patronus to deliver messages unless it was an emergency.
Without a second thought, she sprang to the commentator's platform with surprising agility for her age and snatched the microphone from Lee Jordan.
"Prefects, organize the students—do not panic! Return to your common rooms in an orderly fashion!"
Many people still didn't understand what was happening, but Professor McGonagall's instructions echoed across the pitch.
The prefects began to stand, and teachers started helping to maintain order.
There were groans and complaints from the crowd. No one wanted to miss such an incredible final.
Oliver Wood looked devastated as he landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without dismounting his broomstick.
"But Professor!" he shouted, "We must finish the match… the Quidditch Cup… Gryffindor… we were so close to winning!"
At this point, Gryffindor was only twenty points ahead, but that didn't seem to dampen his optimism.
Professor McGonagall ignored him, continuing into the microphone: "All students must return to their common rooms, where your Heads of House will inform you further. Please leave quickly!"
Grumbling, the students slowly headed back toward the castle. Some muttered complaints about the game's cancellation, while others looked anxious.
Speculation buzzed through the crowd about what could have happened, so serious that even the Quidditch final was suspended.
Marietta joked that Death Eaters had appeared.
Braley suggested that the final exams had been burned in a fire.
Many younger students favored this idea, hoping it would save them from exams.
As they neared the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick appeared at the back of the group.
"Mr. Stark, I need to ask you a few questions. Please come with me."
William felt a bad premonition and shot Cho a helpless look to say he was just as clueless.
He really didn't know, but he suspected this might have something to do with last night's venture into the hidden passageways.
William followed Professor Flitwick, separating from the crowd and climbing the marble staircase. But this time, they didn't head toward any office. Instead, they were led to the hospital wing.
"Listen carefully, William," Professor Flitwick said gravely as they approached the hospital. "What I'm about to tell you might come as a shock."
His tone was unusually solemn.
"A murder has just occurred…"
William's heartbeat seemed to skip a beat. He mentally checked off his friends, all of whom were safe at the Quidditch pitch.
With a somber expression, Professor Flitwick said; "It was the prefect, Robert Hilliard."
"What?!… how is that possible?" William stammered in disbelief. "I saw him just two hours ago at the common room entrance."
"Yes," Flitwick confirmed, his voice filled with sorrow. "The attack happened during the match. He was killed… by Dark magic."
"Who did it?"
"We don't know yet," Flitwick replied. "But we found a vial of the Draught of Living Death in his hand. Madam Pomfrey said it was brewed by you, and she mentioned you had asked her about the brewing technique before."
"Yes, I did," William quickly recounted his conversation with Madam Pomfrey that morning.
"Did you notice anything unusual?" Flitwick pressed.
William thought carefully before shaking his head. "No, Professor."
Flitwick sighed, as if realizing the last clue had slipped through their grasp.
Dumbledore entered, his face grave. Flitwick glanced at him, shaking his head in silence.
Dumbledore was about to speak when the sound of stumbling footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Filch burst in, gasping for breath as he stammered, "Headmaster, you must… you must come quickly… Professor Tywin… he…"
"Is dead."
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