"I've got a bad feeling about this," Ron whispered, his fingers tapping restlessly on the grandstand railing.

Hermione looked up from Quidditch Through the Ages, her brow furrowed. "Again? Last year it was Quirrell secretly causing trouble, but this year there's no one—"

Her words were cut short by a sudden roar from the crowd.

The two teams marched onto the field. Piercing boos erupted from Slytherin's silver-green formation, while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students cheered even louder—clearly, everyone wanted to see Slytherin lose.

"Captains, shake hands!"

Flint and Wood gripped each other's hands tightly, their knuckles white. As Madam Hooch's whistle blew, fourteen brooms shot into the air.

Harry executed a flawless dive, shaking off Malfoy. Behind his glasses, his green eyes scanned the pitch intently. Surprisingly, the usually mouthy Malfoy was focused this time too; they passed each other several times without exchanging a single taunt.

"Not good," Ron muttered, clutching his binoculars tightly. "Their Nimbus 2001s are way too fast!"

As if to prove his point, a Slytherin Chaser feinted through the defense, and the Quaffle sailed cleanly through the hoop.

Before the cheers died down, screams erupted from the stands—a jet-black Bludger was barreling straight toward the back of Harry's head at a bizarre angle.

Just in time, Harry rolled sharply to the side, and the Bludger whistled past his hair.

Just as everyone breathed a sigh of relief, the Bludger twisted sharply in mid-air and came roaring back with renewed aggression.

In the distance, the Weasley twins were circling Harry rapidly. Their lips moved, clearly in an intense discussion, but the howling wind drowned out their voices—nothing could be heard from the stands.

The rogue Bludger seemed to be under some sort of malicious curse, relentlessly pursuing Harry. It carved dangerous arcs through the sky, lunging at him like a rabid viper, forcing him to dodge again and again with increasingly risky maneuvers.

"This isn't normal at all!" Hermione suddenly stood up, unaware that her book had slid from her lap. "How can a Bludger only target one player?"

"It has to be Malfoy!" Ron growled, slamming his fist on the railing. "They must've tampered with the ball!"

On the field, Fred and George acted like two mobile walls, doing their best to block the rampaging Bludger, but it always veered around them in strange, unnatural ways—never stopping its pursuit of Harry.

Finally, the twins got Wood to call a timeout. The Gryffindor players landed on the muddy pitch and huddled close for an emergency discussion.

Cold rain poured down, and students in the stands opened their umbrellas one after another.

Ron and Hermione anxiously watched the cluster of scarlet-robed players on the pitch, only to see them shake their heads and take off again—they clearly hadn't found a solution.

The game resumed, and the Bludger's attacks became even more vicious, at one point even tearing the hem of Harry's robes.

During a particularly dangerous sharp turn, Harry caught a brief glimpse of Malfoy's face—and was surprised to see a genuinely bewildered expression.

Then, just as the two passed each other, a golden flash darted past Malfoy's ear.

The Golden Snitch!

Harry made his decision in an instant. He shot straight toward Malfoy, who was clearly startled, thinking Harry meant to knock him off his broom.

"What are you doing—"

Malfoy veered away just in time to avoid a collision, but Harry wasn't so lucky; the rogue Bludger slammed into him from the side.

Yet at the moment of impact, Harry's other hand shot out, and he managed to snatch the Golden Snitch firmly in his grasp.

His tightly wound nerves suddenly relaxed. Only then did he feel the searing pain in his arm. His vision went black, and he plummeted from his broom.

…

When Harry woke up, he was still lying in the mud, surrounded by the Gryffindor team. The Golden Snitch was clenched tightly in one hand, while his other arm dangled at a crooked angle.

"We.. We won!" Harry said, lifting the Snitch and smiling at his teammates. "Urg.. But I think my arm's broken…" he added with a grimace.

Oliver Wood crouched down and clapped him on the shoulder. "Brilliant, Harry, you did it!" he beamed. "But don't move just yet—your arm's definitely broken. Luckily…"

He grinned and pulled out his wand. "We've been practicing healing spells lately. I can handle something like this!"

With that, he waved his wand over Harry's arm. "Brackium Emendo!"

A shimmering green light enveloped Harry's arm, and he immediately felt it return to normal.

"Haha, alright, you're amazing, Wood!"

Even the twins clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "Didn't know you had that trick up your sleeve!"

"Learned it in practical class…" Wood replied with a grin, putting his wand away.

Just as Harry was about to get up, he vaguely saw a row of gleaming teeth enter his field of vision.

"Don't move! Harry, your arm is broken!"

Lockhart strode forward, his jewel-encrusted boots stepping on the hem of Harry's robes. Without any explanation, he pressed down on Harry's newly healed arm.

"I'm fine, Professor Lockhart, really, I'm completely fine now!" Harry frantically waved his arm to show it was perfectly alright.

"Lie still, Harry!" Lockhart grabbed Harry's flailing arm and said soothingly, "That's just your imagination—your arm is broken, but don't worry, I'll fix it. It only takes a simple spell…"

With that, he pulled out his wand.

"Don't bother, Professor, I'll just go to the hospital wing—really, it's fine as it is!" Harry thought even the Bludger had been easier to avoid. Right now, he would rather jump on his broom and fly away.

But Lockhart paid no attention to his protests. He rolled up his sleeves and shouted, "Stand back!"

The onlookers didn't move, but Lockhart didn't seem to notice. Only Harry's face turned paler.

"Why can't I go to the hospital wing?" he struggled desperately.

"Relax, Harry, it'll be quick. I've done this countless times!" Lockhart flashed his signature smile, turning to pose for Colin Creevey, who was eagerly snapping pictures.

Then he began to twirl his wand dramatically. "Watch closely, everyone," he called out to the crowd. "I'm about to demonstrate silent spell-casting—"

"I really want to go to the hospital wing!" Harry was still desperately trying to bring the crazed Lockhart back to reality.

"Almost done, Harry, just a moment…" And with that, Lockhart abruptly pointed his wand at Harry's arm.

The pitch fell silent. Harry felt a strange sensation course through his arm—and then the Golden Snitch slipped from his hand and tumbled to the ground.

"You healed the wrong arm, Professor," George said dryly from the side.

Harry's worst fear had come true. His previously uninjured hand now dangled limply at his side, completely numb and useless, like a dead rope.

"Ha! Just as expected—Gilderoy Lockhart never disappoints the injured…" Lockhart said proudly, giving Harry's shoulder a congratulatory pat. "You've been cured by me."

He stood up, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Didn't you say you wanted to go to the hospital wing, Potter? Now you can take a nice walk there. I've done most of the job, after all—I wouldn't want to leave Madam Pomfrey completely out of work."

He then turned to Ron and Hermione, speaking as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. "Take him to the hospital. Madam Pomfrey will finish things up!"

~~~~~~~~~

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