Re:HP-A New Life

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

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Chapter Thirty-Seven: Shadows on the Pitch.

The excitement in the air was palpable as students filed into the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium. Banners waved, cheers erupted, and the buzz of anticipation grew louder with every passing moment. The first Quidditch match of the season was always a spectacle, but this one was special—Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and for the first time in over a century, a first-year student, Rose Potter, was playing as Seeker for Gryffindor.

Harry sat among the Slytherins, a sea of green and silver around him. The camaraderie of his housemates was genuine, but his heart was elsewhere, with the red and gold on the pitch. He couldn't shake the strange feeling of sitting in the opposing section, especially for such a significant match. His gaze flitted to the magical recorders darting about, capturing the action for those watching remotely. He imagined his father and grandparents at the Potter estate, their eyes glued to the enchanted mirror, pride and excitement lighting up their faces.

Beside him, his mother, Lily Potter, sat with a rigid posture, her eyes locked on the field. Harry could see the tension in her shoulders, the nervous energy radiating from her. Flying and Quidditch had never been her favorite things, but there she was, braving her fears to support her daughter.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the match. The players shot into the air, a blur of color and motion. Rose, with her wild auburn hair and determined expression, was a sight to behold. She zipped through the air, her eyes scanning the pitch with laser focus. Harry's heart swelled with pride as he watched her maneuver through the players, her confidence growing with every pass.

The game was fast-paced, the Quaffle changing hands rapidly, Bludgers zooming dangerously close to players. The Gryffindor stands were a cacophony of cheers, led by Ron, Hermione, and Neville, who waved a large banner that read "Potter for President." Their enthusiasm was contagious, and even some of the Slytherins chuckled at their antics.

For a while, everything seemed to be going well. Gryffindor was holding their own, and Rose was playing exceptionally for a first-year. Harry allowed himself to relax slightly, the tension in his chest easing. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something amiss. Rose's broom had started to wobble, her grip tightening as she struggled to stay on.

Harry's heart sank as he scanned the stands. His eyes locked onto Professor Quirrell, seated in the front row, his lips moving ever so slightly. The realization hit Harry like a Bludger—Quirrell was jinxing Rose's broom. His mind raced. He couldn't act directly; any interference could disrupt Snape's counter-jinx efforts and make things worse. Instead, he focused on casting a silent cushioning charm, placing an invisible safety net beneath Rose.

The scene played out in slow motion for Harry. His sister clung to the broom, her knuckles white, her face pale but determined. His mother's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. Harry kept his focus on Rose, his spell steady and firm. He could feel the strain of maintaining the charm but didn't let up.

In the stands, Hermione had noticed Snape's odd behavior. With a determined look, she made her way toward Snape, her path conveniently leading her past Quirrell. As she passed, she accidentally knocked into his chair, causing him to lose his concentration. The jinx on Rose's broom stopped, and she quickly regained control.

Harry exhaled, relief washing over him as he saw Rose stabilize. She didn't waste any time, spotting the Golden Snitch near the Gryffindor goalposts. With a burst of speed, she shot forward, her hand outstretched. The crowd held their collective breath as she closed in on the Snitch, her fingers brushing it before wrapping firmly around it.

The stadium erupted in cheers as Rose held the Snitch high, a triumphant smile on her face. Gryffindor had won. The players descended to the pitch, their teammates rushing to lift Rose onto their shoulders. The Gryffindor stands were a sea of jubilant faces, their chants echoing across the grounds.

Harry remained seated, his eyes fixed on Quirrell, who now wore a look of frustration. The fact that the jinx had been cast so subtly, so effectively, meant only one thing—Voldemort was behind it. Quirrell could not have managed such a powerful spell on his own from such distance, especially not without a wand.

The question that gnawed at Harry's mind was why. Why target Rose? She wasn't the Boy Who Lived, the one who had survived the Killing Curse. She was just a first-year student, new to the world of magic. What did Voldemort hope to achieve by attacking her?

The celebration on the pitch continued, but Harry's mind was elsewhere. The image of Rose clinging to her broom, her life hanging by a thread, played over and over in his head. He wanted to storm down to the pitch, confront Quirrell, end this threat once and for all. But he knew better. Patience was key. Rushing into action could jeopardize everything.

As the Slytherins began to file out of the stands, Harry cast one last glance at Rose. She was surrounded by her friends, her face glowing with happiness. She was safe, for now. But the game wasn't over. The battle had just begun.