When Prefect Padma Patil told Harry to "get a hold of yourself and not be bewitched by Cho Chang's beauty," the little lions nearby immediately turned their heads, sizing him up with a complicated mixture of curiosity, teasing, and concern.
After all, nobody present was blind. Cho really was that captivating.
Facing the teasing looks of his fellow lions, Harry took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound firm and steady. "Don't worry, everyone, I would never—"
Before he could finish, a graceful figure walked in through the entrance of the hall.
It was none other than Ravenclaw's Seeker—Harry's actual girlfriend, Cho Chang.
Today she wore her house Quidditch uniform in silver and blue, her long hair was falling smoothly over her shoulders, looking especially striking.
She first greeted the Gryffindor students she recognized nearby with polite nods, then walked straight up to Harry.
Under the astonished stares of the lions around them, she reached out and wrapped her arms gently around Harry, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Embrace first, then kiss—then Cho took Harry's hands in hers, and said, gently but firmly.
"Harry, don't pay too much attention to what others think."
"Of course not!"
Harry nodded firmly, a warm feeling rising in his chest. Cho really was such an understanding, wonderful girl.
As she turned to leave, Cho's gaze swept over the lions still eyeing Harry, and she added, word by word.
"Although—if you deliberately go easy on me during the match, I'll be the first one who won't forgive you."
"Don't worry, I'll give it everything I've got!"
Harry clenched his fist tightly as he said this.
Cho smiled brightly, trust was shining in her eyes, then turned and floated away, the silver-and-blue uniform tracing a graceful arc in the morning light.
"See? Now do you believe me?"
Harry looked at the others, exasperated.
"Cho has never once used some kind of honey trap on me—she's the one telling me to go all out!"
What could the little lions possibly say to that now?
Looking at the two of them together, who wouldn't be dazed?
Honestly, even I'd be dazed in his shoes.
Still, since the Savior himself had spoken, they figured they ought to give him some face.
"We believe you, we believe you!"
"How could we not believe in the hero of Quidditch!"
"I always said it—Potter would never let a match slip just for the sake of romance!"
"Same here!"
"Potter is Our King!"
Harry. "..."
Amid the overlapping chorus of agreement, mixed with laughter and jeering, Harry rolled his eyes helplessly. Just as everyone was still egging him on, Luna Lovegood wandered over to join them at her own leisurely pace.
Today she wasn't wearing the lion-head hat she'd worn to the last two Gryffindor matches. In its place sat a living, breathing eagle.
The eagle perched on her shoulder, flapping its wings restlessly, letting out little chirps—clearly cheering for Ravenclaw. Between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, she had, in the end, chosen to support her own house.
Luna tilted her head and said, in that airy, singsong voice of hers.
"Harry, someone as ruthless as you wouldn't go easy on an opponent just because it's Cho, would you?"
"That's right."
Harry let out a sigh of relief, glad that no one else would question whether he'd hold back...
Wait. Wait just a moment!
He suddenly caught up with what she'd said, and slowly turned to look at Luna, his body stiffening like a stone. Confused, he asked.
"Luna, when exactly have I ever been ruthless?"
"You made the Dark Lord's soul shatter to pieces when you were still a baby. Isn't that ruthless enough?"
Luna said this with total seriousness, as though stating the most obvious fact in the world.
Well, there you have it—a one-year-old bullying a poor, lonely old man.
Harry wisely chose not to pursue that particular line of conversation any further, laughing awkwardly a couple of times before changing the subject.
Just then, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, Angelina Johnson, strode over, her expression looking rather serious.
She told the Gryffindor players to head to the pitch now to get ready.
"Harry, honestly, I don't want to say much."
Angelina walked up to Harry, arms crossed, staring intently into his green eyes with a look of piercing suspicion, and said, word by word.
"But Wood specifically warned me—back when you played Ravenclaw before, you were still going on about gentlemanly conduct, and you pulled up right when you should have knocked Cho Chang out of the way."
The moment Angelina said this, Harry deeply regretted it.
He'd have been better off chatting with Luna a bit longer.
At least Luna's bizarre remarks didn't leave him this mortified.
Fortunately, Angelina didn't say anything further. She just gave him one long, searching look before turning to call out.
"All right, let's not waste time. Katie, come on!"
Seeing this, Harry hurried to say goodbye to Sherlock and Hermione, and called Ron and Ginny to catch up with the rest of the group as they headed for the Quidditch pitch. "Sherlock, let's go too!"
Hermione tugged at Sherlock's arm, a note of anticipation in her voice.
Sherlock, of course, had no objection.
The two of them followed the crowd to the stands at the Quidditch pitch, finding the seats Neville and Padma, in their capacity as prefects, had specially saved for them at the very top—a spot with an unobstructed view of the entire field.
"Sherlock, do you think we'll win?"
"Hermione, will we win?"
The moment the two of them sat down, Neville and Lavender asked almost the exact same question, nearly in unison, their voices tight with nerves.
Neville's hands gripped the railing of the stands so hard his knuckles had gone white, his face was full of worry.
Lavender, meanwhile, had her hands clasped together, her eyes were brimming with unease.
Surprisingly enough, Neville who had never been expected to amount to much as a prefect—had done a genuinely impressive job this school year.
Though he was slow to react and had a poor memory, he had his own virtues.
Persistence. Diligence. Steadiness.
Say what you will, but even with his prefect duties and the enormous pressure of the O.W.L.s bearing down on him, he still hadn't missed a single morning of fencing practice with Sherlock, rain or shine.
Harry, on the other hand, had failed to maintain a perfect attendance record, thanks to Quidditch training and his dates with Cho Chang.
Beyond that, Neville's political instincts were passable, and his political decision-making left something to be desired—but his ability to actually execute on decisions was rock solid.
As it happened, this complemented the other prefect, Padma, perfectly.
The result was that the little lions of Gryffindor were thoroughly satisfied with Prefect Neville Longbottom's performance, and respected him from the bottom of their hearts.
Hermione shook her head; she wasn't particularly knowledgeable about Quidditch, and even now had only more or less overcome her fear of heights.
So, out of habit, she turned to look at Sherlock beside her, a hint of appeal in her eyes.
Sherlock didn't answer right away.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, gazing out at the pitch.
The weather today was exceptionally clear, without a single cloud in the sky.
Golden sunlight spilled across the green grass, reflecting a dazzling brightness.
A light breeze drifted by, carrying the fresh scent of grass and earth—clearly ideal conditions for a flying match.
"Let's see how it goes first," he said, drawing his gaze back, his tone was flat.
Out on the pitch, the two team captains had already walked to the centre of the field.
Angelina Johnson and Roger Davies shook hands, both of them were looking at each other with a spark of eagerness.
Unlike the tense, blade-drawn atmosphere of Gryffindor's matches against Slytherin, the pre-match mood here was fairly calm.
Behind Davies, Cho Chang stood among her teammates, her glossy black hair was fluttering lightly in the breeze.
She seemed to sense Harry's gaze, peeked over at him from the crowd, and gave him a sweet smile.
Harry hurried to return the smile, though he couldn't help feeling a bit nervous—he really didn't want to end up affecting the match because of her.
"Hey!"
Fred suddenly reached over and elbowed Harry hard.
"Man!"
"You're already on the pitch. Enough making eyes at each other."
Harry. "..."
He honestly couldn't understand why everyone assumed he'd go easy.
Did he really look like the type of person who'd throw away his house's honour for the sake of romance?
"The match has begun!"
Naturally, the commentary was once again handled by the Weasley twins' good friend, Lee Jordan.
His voice carried across the entire pitch, instantly igniting the crowd's enthusiasm.
Just as in the previous matches, he started right off by praising Angelina Johnson.
"All right, they're off the ground!
"The first to grab the Quaffle is none other than Gryffindor's captain, Angelina Johnson!
"I've got some good news for everyone—the lovely Angelina has finally agreed to go out with me!
"I'm sure she must have been won over by my relentless pursuit—"
"Jordan!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp voice immediately cut in from beside the commentary box.
"Sorry, Professor—just livening up the mood a bit."
Lee Jordan hastily corrected himself, his tone turning serious.
"Angelina passes to Katie Bell, going for a give-and-go...
"Oh no, the Quaffle's been intercepted by Ravenclaw's captain, Davies!
"He's dodged past Angelina!
"He's dodged past Katie Bell too!
"He's gotten past Spinnet as well!
"He's charging straight for the goal!
"He's going to shoot—right now only Ron Weasley can stop him!
"And then—and then—"
Lee Jordan suddenly stopped short, then let out a loud curse, his voice thick with disappointment.
"And then he scores."
"Ohh!"
The little lions in the stands all pressed their hands to their foreheads at the same moment, letting out a helpless collective groan.
More than a few faces bore the unmistakable look of of course this would happen.
"Sherlock, look at this—"
Seeing Ravenclaw take the early lead, Neville tensed up immediately.
His eyes stayed fixed on his roommate Ron, his voice edged with anxiety.
Lavender's gaze, meanwhile, hadn't left her boyfriend since the match began, and her hands were clamped tightly around Hermione's arm. Hermione, for her part, couldn't help feeling a bit helpless about it.
"No need to worry, my dear Neville—the match has only just begun."
Compared to the anxious little lions around him, Sherlock looked utterly composed.
He rested his clasped hands under his chin, his gaze calm as he analysed the situation.
"First, Ron still hasn't found his rhythm—he needs a little time to adjust.
Second, Harry will definitely catch the Snitch before the score gap reaches one hundred and fifty points."
Sherlock was not Harry—if he had something to say, he said it outright, without the slightest regard for whether it might sting.
"But, but...…"
Neville opened his mouth, but couldn't manage a complete sentence for a good while.
It was Padma who finally spoke up.
"Do you really think Harry can catch the Snitch before Cho Chang does? That—Sherlock, I don't mean anything by it, but I could swear I saw them smiling at each other before the match. What if Harry goes soft…"
"Padma, that doesn't prove anything."
Before Sherlock could respond, Hermione cut in first.
"We need to trust Harry's professionalism—and trust Ron, too. He just needs the right moment to turn things around."
As she said this, she tried to tug her arm free from Lavender's tight grip.
It didn't budge.
Over the course of the match that followed, Ron's performance remained, true to form, consistently steady.
He let in four goals in a row.
The score gap between the two teams widened to forty points.
This all-too-familiar scene immediately drew a wave of jeers from the crowd, most of them coming from the Slytherin stands.
The little snakes were clearly delighted to see the little lions struggling.
"Why can't Ron hold the goal!" Padma couldn't help complaining, her brow was furrowing tightly.
"Why can't Harry catch it already!" Lavender cried out at almost the same moment; her voice was choked with tears.
Ten minutes later, Katie Bell used a beautiful feint to fake out Ravenclaw's Keeper and scored a goal.
Right after that, Angelina Johnson seized an opening in the opposing defence and scored again as well.
These two goals finally let the little lions breathe a sigh of relief, and a brief round of cheers broke out in the stands.
Just then, the situation on the pitch suddenly took a dramatic turn.
As Bradley, Ravenclaw's other Chaser, sped toward Gryffindor's goal at breakneck speed with the Quaffle in hand, Ron seemed to suddenly awaken.
His eyes turned sharp, locked intently onto the Quaffle's trajectory.
Just as everyone was certain Bradley's shot was about to go in—Ron actually saw through his feint!
His body lunged violently to one side, and he swatted away a shot that had seemed all but certain to score!
"Whoa!"
The entire stadium erupted in an instant; the Gryffindor stands bursting into deafening cheers.
The little lions leapt to their feet, waving their arms and shouting in excitement.
Truth be told, that save really was spectacular—textbook-level defence.
From that point on, Ron seemed to have suddenly found his groove, his form was soaring.
He made one dazzling save after another against shots of extremely high difficulty.
A few of them he managed to block with nothing but the very tip of his glove, thanks to astonishingly quick reflexes.
Naturally, every one of his successful saves drew a roar of cheers from the whole crowd.
"Did you see that? My Won-Won!
"That's my Won-Won!"
Lavender's voice had nearly cracked into tears.
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