As the second week approached, anticipation for the match continued to build, and the atmosphere in Hufflepuff became tense. The stakes were high; this game would determine who would claim crucial points and gain a solid lead heading into the final. It was the weekend, but the Hufflepuff common room was unusually quiet—no one even attempted to do their homework.
Harris, the team captain, was visibly jittery, pacing the common room with a Toy Broomstick in hand and repeatedly going over game-day reminders. Meanwhile, the two Hufflepuff Beaters practiced their swings with intense focus. They knew that the Gryffindor Beaters, Fred and George Weasley, were the best at Hogwarts, and they were determined not to let their team down. Kyle worried they might exhaust themselves and end up in the Hospital Wing from overworking their arms. Thankfully, Professor Sprout had brought in a pot of mood-enhancing herbs to lighten the tension.
Since Hufflepuff's victory the previous year, Professor Sprout had taken a keen interest in Quidditch, and these Thymes were a rare type, known for their uplifting effect. Resembling the Three-Headed Dog in rarity, the flowers and leaves also served as key ingredients for the luck-enhancing potion Felix Felicis. Kyle felt a pang of envy at this unique plant, but there was no time to think about it now.
By the time they reached the Great Hall at noon, they were the center of attention. Surprisingly, almost everyone—aside from the Gryffindors—seemed to be rooting for Hufflepuff. The Slytherins, of course, were thrilled at any chance to see Gryffindor lose. The Ravenclaws' motivations were more complex. Though they had been shut out in their last match, if Gryffindor performed poorly, it would soften the blow to Ravenclaw's pride.
It was like an exam where only one person scores perfectly; as long as everyone else fails, individual scores don't sting as much. There's little difference between a failing score and a zero when everyone's struggling.
For Gryffindor, it was jarring to face such overwhelmingly lopsided support from the school. Usually, only Slytherin experienced this kind of reception. During dinner, Wood, the Gryffindor captain, was furious, nearly tearing his plate apart in frustration.
"Forget what they say; we're the best!" Wood exclaimed. Surveying his teammates, who seemed just as dispirited, he pushed his plate aside and raised his voice. "Support doesn't decide anything. We're going to win this game and show everyone who the strongest team at Hogwarts really is!"
"You're right!" Chaser Angelina echoed, pushing her plate away and raising her glass of pumpkin juice high. "Let's show them who's strongest!"
As she finished, Fred and George raised their glasses as well, adding with a grin, "Hey, don't forget—we're Gryffindor."
"Yeah, exactly," Harry chimed in. "We can absolutely win this!"
Gradually, everyone around the table lifted their glasses, and a wave of renewed energy washed over them. They laughed, and the previous somber mood evaporated.
Harry, in the midst of his friends, raised his glass high, his face flushed with excitement.
...
After lunch, the match was ready to begin.
As students arrived one by one at the Quidditch Pitch, the stands grew increasingly lively. In the team's Changing Rooms, Harris was delivering his usual pep talk.
"Captain, you've said this like 800 times already. How about we just stay quiet for a bit?" Keeper Farrell muttered, peering out the door and taking a deep breath. "The stands are packed with people supporting us. I'm more nervous than I was during last year's final. What if we don't do well... Wait, who is that... Oh my goodness, Dumbledore is here too!"
"Dumbledore?"
The room went silent as everyone crowded around the door to take a look.
"That's fantastic!" Harris exclaimed, waving his arm excitedly when he spotted the silver-white beard. "If Dumbledore's here to watch, Snape definitely won't dare mess with Kyle!"
The biggest worry that had been nagging at him suddenly felt resolved... Harris was completely at ease now.
Soon, the door to the Changing Rooms opened, and the team marched out onto the pitch.
"Look, the Hufflepuff team is coming in!"
Lee Jordan's voice echoed from the stands.
"They're the favorites, just as strong as Gryffindor. They beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin in the last match and didn't even let them score a single point!"
Lee Jordan was clearly stirring the pot, taunting both teams to rally behind Hufflepuff. But his words were quickly drowned out by a wave of boos, and snack wrappers, flavored beans, and even a few shoes rained down on him.
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's voice called sharply as she waved her wand, giving him a stern look.
"Oh, sorry, Professor McGonagall, I was just stating the facts."
The booing around him intensified. Even Snape, acting as referee, shot Lee Jordan a hard glare, wondering if he should give the boy a taste of what Kyle got last time in Potions class.
Lee Jordan felt a chill run down his spine, as though something dreadful had taken notice of him. Realizing he'd roused the crowd's ire, he quickly abandoned any attempts at adding personal commentary and started giving the play-by-play properly.
"This commentary is really getting under people's skin. If we lose, it'll look bad, and we'll just end up as Gryffindor's stepping stone," Cedric muttered.
"It doesn't matter, as long as we win," Kyle replied with a smile. "If we also keep Gryffindor at zero points, he won't have much to say next time."
"Then I'd better catch the Snitch quickly," Cedric laughed.
The two team captains soon shook hands, and Madam Hooch's whistle signaled the start of the game.
Kyle, with the advantage of his broomstick, was the first to seize the Quaffle. Harris followed close behind, perfectly in sync, as they streaked toward Gryffindor's goalpost.
Angelina and Alicia Spinnet rushed to intercept, but their broomsticks couldn't match the speed of the Nimbus 2000, and they were forced to trail far behind. Fred sent a Bludger their way, but Kyle smoothly dodged it with a flick of his wrist.
Reaching the scoring area, Kyle feinted a pass to Harris on his left, then sent a backhanded shot toward the right goalpost.
The cheering in the stands fell silent, and everyone watched the Quaffle with bated breath.
Only Lee Jordan kept up his commentary at a breakneck pace:
"Kyle pitches… another feint… Wood can… beautiful—Wood sees right through his move! The ball is intercepted, and now Gryffindor takes the initiative!"