The Legacy of Salazar

Quick and Chaotic

Despite what he'd said, the next morning Merlin wished he had stayed in bed. Breakfast had never felt so tense. Both teams ignored their food and instead shot increasingly hostile expressions at one another from across the Great Hall.

"Look at them," Draco spat, narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindors. "They think they have a chance." Wood seemed to be giving some kind of empowering speech.

"Good to see you're confident, then," Merlin said as he poked at his food. He struggled to find his appetite these days. He looked up to see Ron glaring daggers at him and shook his head. "You're probably lucky Fred and George are the Gryffindor beaters."

Draco grunted and folded his arms. "They've never gone easy before now," he countered.

"Yeah, but at least they won't miss the bludger to hit you instead," Merlin grumbled. He had heard the Slytherin beaters, Derrick and Bole, discussing such a thing last night in the common room.

"Well," Draco looked slightly uncomfortable, "sometimes the best defence is a good offence."

"Why do I feel like you've inverted that saying?"

"Anyway," Draco said, and he grabbed his goblet of pumpkin juice, "we're going to win and knock these sanctimonious Gryffindors down a peg."

"Just as long as you ignore the Gryffindors and focus on catching the snitch," Merlin said, seriously. Draco grimaced and nodded, taking a drink of his pumpkin juice instead of replying.

Sitting a few seats away from them, Marcus Flint got to his feet and looked around at the Slytherin team meaningfully. Draco took a deep breath, looking less confident than before, and got up.

"Good luck," Merlin said as he and the rest of the team made their way out of the Great Hall. He saw the Gryffindor team similarly rise to their feet and would have been concerned about the two meeting in the entry hall if he didn't see Professor McGonagall and Snape keeping a weather eye.

"What exactly do they think they'll prove if they win?" Blaise said, sliding over to take Draco's empty seat. He nodded toward the Gryffindors. "Do they think you'll suddenly be found guilty if they catch the snitch or something?"

"That'll be the day," Merlin said rolling his eyes. He pushed his beans in a circle around in his plate, frowning.

Blaise shook his head. "Well, we might as well go get seats unless you want to keep playing with your food?"

"No, let's go," and they got to their feet. "You coming, Theo?" Merlin asked the shy Slytherin from across him. And together, the three of them left the Great Hall.

They were among the first to reach the stands, but it wasn't long after they'd sat down and Blaise began explaining his list of predictions for the game that the rest of the school joined them. Merlin could just see among the Gryffindor stands a first-year boy dancing about the edge of the stands with a camera, and cringed when he saw it point in his general direction.

"I though paparazzi weren't allowed?" Blaise said in a mocking tone, nudging Merlin's arm. "Maybe he thinks he'll sell it to the Daily Prophet."

"He can try," Merlin said, narrowing his eyes. He was surprised to see Ginny Weasley pull the boy back into his seat, shooting a half-grimace and a silent sorry, in his direction.

Below, the doors opened and the two teams stepped out onto the pitch and the tumult of noise—positive and negative—drowned out any possibility of conversation.

It was a violent game. Merlin cringed as he watched players dive-bomb each other, and it felt like Madam Hooch blew her whistle every thirty-seconds. Fred and George didn't try to hit anybody with their clubs but they didn't pull their punches either, and the Slytherin beaters looked downright murderous.

"And Slytherin is in possession," came the commentator's voice, barely heard over the sheer noise from the crowd. "Flint passes to Higgs—take it from him, Angelina! Rip it from his slimy—"

"Jordan!" came McGonagall's voice. "If you can't commentate in a non-biased manner—"

"Sorry, Professor. Higgs is in possession of the quaffle. He's coming up to the goalposts—Wood, stop him!"

But Wood missed. The cheers from Slytherin were almost drowned out from the torrent of boos and hissing thrown in their direction.

"This is terrible," Merlin said, rubbing his temples. He could just see Draco circling high above the pitch. He seemed to have taken Merlin's advice to heart, and stayed out of the way of the chasers pelting up and down the field. The Gryffindor seeker—some third-year Merlin had never met, hovered a good ten feet below him.

"It'll make our victory that much sweeter," Blaise yelled. "Go Draco!"

"Gryffindor in possession," said Lee Jordan. "Angelina finally got that ball, good girl. Stick it to those snakes—"

"Jordan!"

Merlin plugged his ears, watching as Draco passed by above them. The blond suddenly stopped, and Blaise pulled one of Merlin's hands away from his ear.

"He's seen it!"

"Where?"

"There!" said Pansy, pointing. Something gold was hovering right by the Slytherin goal posts.

Draco shot toward it, but below him, the Gryffindor seeker did the same thing. But whereas Draco passed above the stampede of chasers speeding down the pitch, the Gryffindor seeker flew into the chaos.

It happened so fast, Merlin didn't see it but the next moment the Gryffindors were screaming, "FOUL," while their seeker fell to the ground.

"What happened?" Merlin shouted as Draco dived.

"Their seeker just took a bludger to the back!" Blaise explained. "Come on! GET IT! YES!"

And as Draco began to rise, the glittering snitch clenched in his hand, Madam Hooch blew her whistle for the last time.