As Lee Jordan’s shout echoed across the stadium, the Quidditch pitch fell into stunned silence.
No one had expected it. The most anticipated showdown of the season had ended before it had even properly begun.
Everyone had co hoping for an intense back-and-forth, but Draco ignored all decorum and executed a maneuver so advanced it was usually only seen in professional matches. Even with prior preparation, it would have been nearly impossible to block—let alone for Wood, who wasn’t even on a professional level.
But the silence didn’t last. Pansy was the first to cheer, and soon the entire pitch was engulfed in a roaring sea of green and silver. Slytherin’s crazed celebration had begun.
You had to admit, those usually proud and aloof little snakes could get just as wild as any other house...
"Ahhhhh!"
"That’s how you play!"
"We're the champions!!"
Even though Slytherin were already the reigning champions, every witch and wizard from the house wore the kind of smug satisfaction that ca from sweet vindication.
Even Snape, who had sat stone-faced on the high platform since the start of the match, allowed a faint smirk to tug at his lips. Thankfully, no one noticed—otherwise, soone might’ve cried from the shock...
“The first goal of the match goes to the Slytherin team! Did anyone catch that? Their new captain just pulled off the Vratsa Feint! That’s Vratsa’s signature move! Not even Oliver Wood’s Starfish and Stick could stop it!”
Seeing such professional-level technique got Lee Jordan excited, but he didn’t forget his job.
Most of the witches and wizards in the stands didn’t fully understand what counted as a professional move—many had only vaguely heard of the Vratsa Feint and couldn’t follow what they’d just witnessed.
But what they did see was Draco using brilliant flying skills to beat the opposing Keeper...
To them, it looked like a simple sudden stop—Draco feinted just enough to throw the Keeper off, then effortlessly sent the Quaffle through the hoop.
But hidden in that seemingly simple maneuver was a remarkable amount of skill and experience.
A high-speed stop didn’t just an dealing with the G-forces from flying at top speed—it also ant enduring the opposing force of the sudden halt.
And even with the aid of Quidditch gear, it wasn’t sothing just anyone could pull off. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be classed as a professional move...
...
However, the high-level technique Draco used wasn’t sothing the younger witches and wizards on the sidelines could easily grasp. Their attention, beyond Draco’s clean and decisive goal, was also drawn to Slytherin’s uncharacteristically fair style of play. Since when had Slytherin started playing like this?
“Did he shove soone just now?”
“I don’t think so... Neither Angelina nor Oliver protested to the referee.”
“No, that move was completely clean. In fact, Malfoy didn’t even touch anyone.”
“Are we sure that’s really Slytherin? Not soone from another house in disguise?”
The drastic shift in playing style had them pausing to seriously consider whether sothing had changed in Slytherin.
Of course, not everyone was ready to change their opinion based on one goal...
“Don’t be fooled! This has to be so kind of sche. Just watch—those Slytherins are definitely going to use dirty tricks next!”
“Yeah, exactly! Don’t let your guard down, Oliver!”
“It’s just one goal. Let’s get back in the ga and show them what we’re made of!”
Ron Weasley’s warning snapped the surrounding Gryffindors back to attention.
It was only the first goal—far too early to be jumping to conclusions.
But then ca another loud shout from Lee Jordan that left the little lions frozen in disbelief...
“Another goal! Draco Malfoy’s move was clean again—totally unlike the usual Slytherin style! If the whole match goes like this, I’ll have to see Draco Malfoy in a whole new light. Maybe under his leadership, the despicable and shaless Slytherin…”
“Jordan!!”
“Sorry, Professor.”
Smacked in the face by reality, Gryffindor finally realized—Slytherin wasn’t the sa today. Or rather, everything had started to shift the mont Draco beca captain.
Under his lead, Slytherin had abandoned foul play and now displayed the kind of dominance a true champion team should possess...
“This isn’t good...”
Watching that effortless green figure glide back to midfield, then glancing at the discouraged expressions of his teammates, Oliver Wood muttered with a grim look.
As arguably the best captain and Keeper Gryffindor had ever seen, his ability to read the ga told him this wasn’t just a simple goal.
As much as he hated to admit it, Wood was beginning to see just how terrifying Slytherin’s tactics were.
Speed trumped control.
Maybe Gryffindor had longer possession tis and more plays up front—but without breaking through the opponent’s defense, Draco Malfoy, who road outside standard formations, was a deadly threat.
Draco wasn’t just the engine behind this system. He was the sharpest weapon in their arsenal.
No... he was the ace!
...
This strategy demanded strong defensive coordination and sharp in-ga awareness from the team.
But if one person could control the rhythm, then it didn’t matter whether everyone fully understood the tactic—because all they had to do was follow that player’s lead.
And Wood had already identified who that key player was.
“If we just keep Draco Malfoy in check, maybe...”
In just that short mont, Oliver Wood grasped the entire strategy—it all hinged on Draco’s execution and his terrifying flying ability.
‘So if we can stop Draco from scoring so easily, and Harry catches the Golden Snitch... then we still have a chance! Yes!’
Though only seconds had passed, Wood had already worked out a counter-strategy in his mind.
And just like that, the Gryffindor captain’s hope for victory was reignited...
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