Chapter Eighty-Nine: Victory Belongs to Slytherin!

The snow was falling hard, thick drifting flakes blurring everyone's vision.

High above the pitch, shadowy figures in green and red Quidditch robes flashed in and out through the storm: the Slytherin and Gryffindor players.

The Seekers flying at the highest altitude had long since vanished into the boundless wind and snow, impossible for the spectators to pick out. That left the Quidditch enthusiasts more than a little disappointed.

Fortunately, there was still one figure on the field even more eye-catching than the players themselves. Clad in the sky-blue uniform of the Tutshill Tornados, he swept through every level of the stadium with graceful, dashing movements, drawing shrill cheers and excited screams from the young witches and wizards.

"So is Professor Prenton really here to referee?" Shevin asked, turning to Abraxas after he burst into another fervent cheer for that figure.

"Of course! Professor Prenton used to be the finest Seeker in Britain, and now he'll absolutely be Hogwarts's best referee as well!" Abraxas's face was still flushed, though it was hard to tell whether from cold or excitement.

Watching Professor Prenton's heroic form and listening to the commentator's lavish praise for this referee, Shevin silently offered a moment of sympathy for the Quidditch players fighting their hearts out below. Until Professor Prenton retired, they were probably never going to have much chance to steal the spotlight...

The snow came down ever harder, and the match grew fiercer by the minute. The red and green figures tangled across the field, moving so fast that only their afterimages remained.

In the stands, the young Slytherins and Gryffindors shouted themselves hoarse cheering for their respective house teams.

The feverish atmosphere even swept up the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at the scene, drawing them into the chorus of support as well—though most of them were cheering for Gryffindor... it had to be said that Slytherin truly was not especially gifted when it came to winning people over.

Even Shevin, Mobley, and Gomez, three young wizards with little interest in Quidditch, were eventually stirred by the cries of the little Slytherin snakes around them. They joined the crowd cheering for their house team, shouting in rhythm with an older student waving a green flag.

Then all at once, a green figure, swift as the wind, shot down beside the stands to the lower level of the pitch.

The entire stadium erupted instantly.

"It's Slytherin's Seeker, Pruett! What is he doing? Has he really spotted the Golden Snitch?!" Even the commentator's voice rose uncontrollably with excitement.

"Is Ignatius our house team's Seeker?" Shevin asked Abraxas, a little out of the loop.

But by then Abraxas heard nothing at all. He was gripping the railing in front of him, staring fixedly at Ignatius's hurtling figure, his face a mixture of fanatical excitement and profound tension.

At the same time, a red Gryffindor figure also plunged to the lower air near the stands, speeding straight toward Ignatius.

But in that instant, the green-clad figure banked sharply away from the spectators. The Gryffindor Seeker, caught off guard, nearly slammed into the wall at the edge of the pitch and had to struggle desperately to brake his broom.

And the very moment he managed to stop his forward rush, a thunderous cheer exploded across the stadium.

Above the stands, Ignatius had already raised his right hand high over his head. In his grasp gleamed a delicate golden ball.

"Unbelievable! Pruett used the stadium wall to perform a special Wronski Feint! He shook off Gryffindor's Seeker and caught the Golden Snitch!" the commentator roared, so excited his voice had gone hoarse.

With Professor Prenton's whistle, he raised a green marker high.

The Slytherins finally let loose completely, cheering at the top of their lungs as they waved green banners and flags in a frenzy.

In stark contrast, the Gryffindor section had sunk into utter dejection; even their house banners had been lowered.

"Did you see that? We won!" Abraxas cried excitedly, throwing his arms around Shevin and the other two. "Next year I'll definitely make this great team too!"

The three of them smiled in relief as well. Only at that moment did these proud young Slytherins truly and clearly understand what collective honor meant—what cohesion meant.

...

The Slytherins' exhilaration did not fade in the least even after they returned to the common room. There they launched into a wild victory celebration. Even Professor Slughorn came in person to congratulate the players.

"This toast is to Ignatius, for seizing the Golden Snitch at last and winning victory for Slytherin!" Professor Slughorn said, face ruddy and beaming with delight.

"Of course, underage students may each have only one cup as a special exception," he added with a smile.

"To Ignatius!"

The young witches and wizards all wore heartfelt smiles as they happily drained the butterbeer Professor Slughorn had specially asked the house-elves to bring. Though it contained almost no alcohol, they were intoxicated all the same.

After finishing a cup of butterbeer, the second-year witch Lucretia Black stepped forward carrying a drink that looked rather like wine, and softly made her way to Ignatius. She said something to him in a low voice, then, cheeks burning red, downed the faux wine in one gulp.

Ignatius seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, amid the teasing uproar of everyone around them, he reached out and caught Lucretia by the hand.

The room instantly turned even more animated, and Professor Slughorn's round face bloomed like a flower with delight.

Shevin glanced at the two of them with interest, then asked Alcyone curiously, "Al, what's going on with those two?"

"What else could it be? It all started after the castle's magic failed," Alcyone replied, pursing her lips almost imperceptibly. "Pruett saved Lucretia once when the moving staircase collapsed, and afterward he helped take care of her for a while in the hospital wing. Ever since then, she's been stuck to him."

"Not bad at all," Shevin remarked with a smiling sigh.

Beside him, Alcyone stole a look at him, as if wanting to say something.

But Shevin suddenly turned and met her gaze, then asked in surprise, "Do I have something on my face? Did I forget to wipe off the foam from the butterbeer just now?"

As he spoke, he pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped his mouth.

Alcyone looked at him, half amused and half helpless, but in the end she still asked, "Hey, what are you going to give me for Christmas?"

...