Chapter 323: Dobby's "Rescue"
Harry let out a muffled grunt from deep in his throat, a sound remarkably similar to the one Anna the care worker made when she was particularly cross.
The Great Hall had been a hive of activity lately. It was, after all, the first Quidditch match of the season—and a high-stakes one at that: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
As eleven o'clock approached, the entire school began to migrate toward the Quidditch stadium. The air was heavy, muggy, and damp, with the low rumble of distant thunder echoing across the grounds.
"Good luck, Harry," Justin said as the boy headed toward the locker rooms.
Everyone had come out to watch, even Sean—mostly because he had failed to locate Professor Dumbledore anywhere else.
The Headmaster was indeed in the stands, twinkling his eyes at Sean from a distance. Seated beside him were a dark-browed Professor Snape and a similarly grim-looking Professor McGonagall.
"The Slytherins have better brooms than us, that's undeniable," Oliver Wood's voice boomed from the locker room, loud enough for Sean's group to overhear. "But we have better people on those brooms. We've trained harder, flown in every kind of weather—"
Wood's chest was heaving with excitement as he turned his focus to Harry.
"—And we're going to make them regret letting that little git Malfoy buy his way onto the team! Harry, you're the key. You need to show Malfoy that a fat wallet doesn't make a Seeker. Either you catch that Snitch before he does, or you die on that pitch, Harry, because we must win today. We must!"
"He wants Harry to die on the pitch?!" Ron asked, looking gobsmacked.
"It's just a figure of speech, Ron," Hermione said, though she too was frowning at the locker room door.
Only Sean looked silently at his wand. He remembered this match; this was when Dobby would make his move. If the Basilisk had already been dealt with, yet Dobby still managed to injure Harry in a misguided attempt to "save" him... well, that would be a classic bit of dark Hogwarts humor.
Up in the stands, the noise rose in waves. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were united in their desire to see Slytherin defeated, their cheers clashing with the boos and jeers coming from the green-clad section of the crowd.
Madam Hooch, the referee, called the two captains forward. Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood shook hands, though they spent a suspicious amount of time trying to crush each other's knuckles while wearing menacing glares.
"Sean? What are you looking at?" Justin asked. The rain had started to fall, but Justin's umbrella was already open, shielding them from the first drops.
Lee Jordan's commentary, magnified by a Sonorus charm, rang out across the pitch. Justin, peering through his binoculars, quickly realized what was happening.
"Slytherin leads, sixty to zero! I have to say, that Bludger today is acting positively rabid. I expect it's sensing my own heartbreak—why won't you notice me, Angelina—"
"JORDAN!" McGonagall's voice barked over the commentary.
"Sorry, Professor! But look! That Bludger nearly took Harry's head off!" Lee shouted.
Down on the pitch, Wood called a timeout. The Gryffindor team huddled together as the Slytherin supporters erupted in mocking laughter.
"We're getting hammered," Wood said urgently. "Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger was blocking Angelina's shot?"
"We were twenty feet above her, trying to keep the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Wood!" George said angrily. "Someone's tampered with it—it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone after anyone else all match. The Slytherins must have done something to it."
"Listen," Harry interrupted, "if you two keep circling me, I've got no hope of catching the Snitch unless it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue ball on my own."
Madam Hooch was signaling to them, clearly wondering if they were going to forfeit.
"Don't be thick, Harry," Fred said. "It'll crack your skull open."
"If we stop now, we forfeit the match!" Harry argued stubbornly. His hair was plastered to his forehead by the torrential rain.
"This is your fault, Wood! 'Catch the Snitch or die on the pitch'—you're barmy, telling him things like that!" George snapped, actually elbowing his captain.
"Is there a problem?" Madam Hooch called out as she approached.
"Fred, George—you heard Harry," Wood said, his hand gripping Harry's shoulder as he looked at the boy's determined face. "Let him handle it. We're staying in!"
As they broke the huddle, Slytherin scored again. The stands were a cacophony of noise.
"There's definitely something wrong with that Bludger!" Hermione cried, huddled in her raincoat.
"Is Harry actually going to die?" Ron asked, looking faint.
"He'll be fine," a calm voice replied.
Out on the pitch, the rain was coming down in sheets, drumming against Harry's glasses.
"Taking up ballet, are we, Potter?" Malfoy jeered as Harry was forced to do a dizzying roll in midair to avoid a whistling smash from the Bludger.
Harry dived away, his heart hammering. He glanced back and felt a jolt of terror—the Bludger was only inches from his back!
But just as it was about to collide with him, the heavy iron ball suddenly jerked to a halt in midair. It was as if an invisible wall had manifested, absorbing the momentum of the attack.
Harry instinctively looked toward the stands. Through the veil of rain, he saw a familiar, grounding figure holding a wand high.
"Sean!" Harry yelled in relief. He banked his broom and pulled into a sharp turn.
"What?" Malfoy's smirk vanished. His eyes went wide with fear as Harry roared directly toward him; he thought Harry was trying to ram him off his broom.
Up in the stands, Sean felt a strange sensation.
His method for controlling the Bludger was simple: whenever it sped toward Harry, he cast a silent Impedimenta.
He could feel Dobby's magic on the other end, struggling to regain control of the ball. However, a Master-level Impediment Jinx was a formidable force, even against house-elf magic.
"What's happened to the Bludger?" Hermione asked, letting out a long breath of relief. She looked at Sean, who was casting wordlessly, and added another goal to her mental checklist of things to learn from him.
"I suspect there's been a... misunderstanding," Justin said with a small smile.
"What misunderstanding?" Ron asked, feeling as though Hogwarts was once again being shrouded in a thick fog of secrets.
On the pitch, Harry and Malfoy were locked in a race against time. Beneath them, Sean was locked in a battle of wills with Dobby.
When Sean momentarily eased the jinx to use his own mental intent to steer the Bludger away, he felt the resistance sharpen. At first, Sean was on the defensive, but his focus quickly surged forward, overpowering the elf's erratic magic.
It was only then that he truly appreciated his system's description of his character: You possess a Prideful Will.
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