Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 23: Whomping Willow

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𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 2 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 23: 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸

"𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦"

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"I booked the pitch!" he snapped, his voice echoing slightly across the field. He stormed ahead, his broom still clutched tightly in one hand. "I reserved this field days ago! This isn't fair!"

But Marcus Flint stepped forward with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the drama. He held up a piece of parchment and waved it theatrically in front of Oliver's face.

"Oh, but look what I've got," Flint said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "A specially signed note from none other than Professor Snape himself."

He cleared his throat dramatically and read aloud: "I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker."

I raised an eyebrow, my mood shifting. Honestly, I hadn't felt like practicing today anyway. Maybe it was for the best. I glanced sideways at Alicia and Katie, who were staring at me with puzzled expressions.

"New Seeker?" Alicia muttered. "Who?"

Oliver's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You've got a new Seeker? Where?" he asked, clearly thrown off by the announcement.

Then, as if on cue, a smaller figure stepped out from behind the tall Slytherin players. Pale skin. Pointed face. Arrogant smirk that made my fists itch. It was none other than Draco Malfoy.

And behind him, seven gleaming broomsticks caught the morning light—Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. Each bore elegant gold lettering and shone like they'd just been unwrapped.

"Fresh off the market," Flint said casually, brushing a speck of dust off his own broom handle. "Released last month, top of the line. A real upgrade from the old Two Thousands."

He smirked cruelly, his eyes flicking to Fred and George. "Not to mention a vast improvement over those old Cleansweep Fives."

Fred and George tightened their grip on their brooms but said nothing. Their faces were unreadable, but I knew them well enough to see they were seething.

I laughed. "So let me guess—Malfoy made the team the moment his daddy bought all of you brand-new brooms?"

Draco's smirk wavered for just a second, and I seized the opening. I crossed my arms and added, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team buys their way onto the team. We earn our spots."

Draco's eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into a sneer. "My father will hear about this, Grimblehawk."

I rolled my eyes. "Hah! Go tell your daddy. What's he going to do—sue me?"

"At least I have a father," Draco spat venomously.

That one hit hard. A beat of silence passed. I could feel a heat rise in my chest like a fire igniting from the inside out. My fists clenched at my sides, and I had to breathe—deeply—because I knew if I didn't calm down, I might do something reckless.

But I did do something reckless.

Without thinking, I took a step forward and punched Malfoy square in the nose.

The sound was solid. I could feel the impact through my knuckles. Blood immediately began to trickle from his nostrils, staining his upper lip.

His hands flew to his face. "You—"