Just before eleven, the entire school began moving toward the Quidditch pitch.
As Rowan passed the Gryffindor team, he stopped briefly beside Harry."Don’t look so tense," he said calmly. "For fairness’ sake, I suggested sothing to our Head of House. This match, only Malfoy will be using a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. The rest of us are sticking with our old brooms."
Harry froze. "Seriously?"
Wood and the other Gryffindor players overheard and nearly cheered on the spot, staring at Rowan like he’d just handed them a miracle.
What Flint had hesitated over earlier was exactly this.
From Rowan’s perspective, winning on superior equipnt would only cheapen the result. People would say his performance ca from a better broom, not skill. That wouldn’t help the reputation he was quietly building.
To outsiders, it looked noble. Upright. Sportsmanlike.
In truth, Rowan was far more ruthless than Flint.
He made the call because he knew he couldn’t lose.
His physical conditioning, his control over a broom, and most importantly, his ability to subtly influence the Golden Snitch ant the match’s timing and final score were his to decide. Until Slytherin led by a hundred and fifty points, the Snitch wouldn’t settle for anyone.
If Flint and Malfoy were obvious villains, the kind people saw coming, Rowan was sothing else entirely. Polished. Respected. Smiling in public while calculating in private.
Sotis, even he found the comparison uncomfortable.
"Thank you, Rowan!" Harry said earnestly.
The Gryffindor players looked ready to hug him.
"The most important thing in sport is fairness," Rowan replied smoothly, without a trace of guilt.
After all, the rules only forbade magic. They said nothing about anything else.
The stands were packed.
Students from all four Houses, professors, visitors from Hogsade, and even Ministry officials filled the seats. Among them was Ludo Bagman, Head of the Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports.
"That first-year," Bagman asked skeptically, "is he really as good as you claim?"
Madam Hooch smiled. "Just watch."
The captains shook hands. Whistles blew. Both teams launched into the air.
The mont the match began, Lee Jordan’s voice rang out."Wait a second—am I seeing this right? Slytherin’s not using Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones? Except Malfoy?"
The crowd murmured.
Professor McGonagall glanced sideways at Snape. "This is... uncharacteristic."
"It was Rowan rcer’s suggestion," Snape replied flatly. "He wanted a clean win."
McGonagall blinked, then smiled. "In that case, ten points to Slytherin."
Lee Jordan heard enough to imdiately broadcast it."Apparently, this was Rowan rcer’s idea. Looks like Slytherin doesn’t always play dirty—"
Two simultaneous knocks landed on his head.
"Joking," Lee yelped. "Back to the match!"
And then Rowan took control.
He intercepted the Quaffle first, slipping through defenders with impossible precision. He scored. Then scored again. Then again, hanging from his broom one-handed as he kicked the ball cleanly through the hoops. Another shot followed, this ti thrown while standing upright on the broom, curving perfectly.
The Gryffindor team was overwheld.
The Slytherin stands erupted, voices going hoarse.
"One hundred and twenty to twenty," Rowan noted calmly, glancing at the scoreboard. "Another fifty and we’re done."
Up to now, he hadn’t even needed to intervene. In fact, he’d deliberately eased off twice to avoid completely humiliating Gryffindor.
Then the anomaly hit.
A Bludger suddenly veered midair.
Not randomly. Deliberately.
It locked onto Harry and began attacking with reckless precision, ignoring every other player.
Rowan’s eyes narrowed.
"So," he thought coolly, "Dobby’s started interfering."
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