Another Quidditch match begins

As they exited the botanical garden, the evening air was cool, and a slight breeze ruffled the student list in Anthony's hand. Dark clouds still hovered above, but the rain had held off for most of the afternoon, leaving the group in good spirits.

People strolling through the garden were starting to head home. An elderly couple walked slowly, hand in hand, talking quietly. Anthony scanned the crowd, his list rustling in the wind.

"Miss Stinson!" Anthony called out, raising his voice above the chatter. "Stinson!"

"Here, Professor!" Stinson replied, popping up from behind a stroller. She had been amusing a baby by pulling funny faces, much to the amusement of the young parents standing nearby. The child squealed with laughter and reached out to grab a handful of Stinson's hair.

"Oh!" Stinson gasped, gently freeing her hair from the baby's tiny grip. "Sorry, little one, but my hair isn't on the menu." She quickly retrieved a small bottle of Smooth Hair Spray from her bag and gave her hair a spritz, smoothing it down.

With a final wave to the couple, she jogged back to join her classmates. Smiling, she said, "That kid's definitely got the reflexes. Might make a fine Seeker one day."

The classmate beside her raised an eyebrow and whispered, "You know they're Muggles, right?"

"I know," Stinson replied with a grin. "But who knows? Maybe he'll get his Hogwarts letter one day. Besides, Muggles have their own sports that are kind of like Quidditch. What's it called... football?"

"It's nothing like Quidditch!" a nearby Quidditch fan muttered indignantly, casting a quick glance at Anthony to make sure he wasn't overhearing. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Football doesn't have a Seeker, or even flying brooms. It's a totally different game."

Stinson shrugged, unfazed. "I'm not an expert in football."

"You don't need to be," the fan shot back. "Anyone who's watched one Quidditch match knows football's got nothing on it. No Bludgers, no Snitch—just a ball on the ground."

At this, another student chimed in, steering the conversation toward safer territory. "Who are you supporting in the next match?"

"Ravenclaw!" the fan replied without hesitation. "Look, I know if Ravenclaw wins, Gryffindor's chances at the Quidditch Cup shrink, but honestly, who in their right mind would cheer for Slytherin?"

"On the contrary, if you calculate the scores, rational people should actually support Slytherin," another student chimed in, trying to be objective.

His Gryffindor classmates, particularly the Quidditch fanatics, shot him daggers. "Are you seriously going to back Slytherin, mate?"

He grinned. "Of course not! I'm not a rational person!" He then raised his fist and followed it up with a less-than-polite suggestion for Slytherin.

Anthony, overhearing, called through the crowd, "Watch your language, Mr. Umufuiwe."

"Yes, Professor," Umufuiwe replied, with a cheeky grin. "Down with Slytherin!"

Anthony nodded, then turned to lead the students toward the train station. They still had about an hour before the train back to the Muggle town would arrive. Initially, the students had wanted to linger in the botanical garden, but the moment Anthony mentioned, "Well, I was thinking of letting you all do some shopping for souvenirs in town," they erupted in excitement. Hastily, they said their goodbyes to Mr. Linde.

What Anthony hadn't anticipated was how quickly some of the Gryffindors would sneak off to Marks and Spencer to buy alphabet biscuits. By the time they boarded the train, they had proudly arranged the biscuits to spell "Slytherin broke his leg," parading the message up and down the carriage like a victory banner.

...

In the lead-up to a Quidditch match, especially when Slytherin was involved, the entire castle seemed to radiate team loyalty. The week before the game, the halls would be littered with floating tubes of Weasley self-cursing paint, courtesy of Fred and George. They painted the castle in bold, rebellious colors, with messages like "Slytherin Stinks!" filling the walls and ceilings.

This week, however, Anthony had been preoccupied with his Apparition exam preparations. He passed the exam with flying colors, despite the examiner eyeing his neck suspiciously as though he'd heard rumors about a splinching incident. Unfortunately, that meant he missed out on some of the chaos involving the paint tubes.

These enchanted paint tubes had a mind of their own, often dodging anyone who tried to stop them from spreading their colorful messages. As a result, beyond the usual "Slytherin idiot," the walls were adorned with less refined slogans like "Oil-headed git," "Curse you, Filch," and "Damn your cat, go to hell!"

Things took an unexpected turn when one daring tube of paint escaped Mrs. Norris' watchful eye, flew into Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, and painted "Crazy Woman" in bright rainbow letters right in front of her. The entire class froze. McGonagall, with an eyebrow raised, calmly vanished the words with a flick of her wand, letting the tube clatter harmlessly to the ground.

The next day, the walls of the castle were scrubbed spotless, the armor gleamed, and the floors were as shiny as new. The ceilings, however, were still a riot of colors. Every time someone tried to clean them, the enchanted paint tubes zoomed back up, exploding into a burst of vivid predictions on how badly Slytherin would lose the next match.

Mrs. Norris patrolled the corridors, meowing in frustration as Filch, out of breath and red-faced, tried in vain to knock the paint tubes down with a mop. Meanwhile, Peeves hovered nearby, gleefully squeezing paint onto Filch's balding head, cackling as he dodged every swat aimed at him.

As more students wandered the corridors with their heads tilted upward, trying to glimpse the colorful predictions of doom for Slytherin painted on the ceilings, collisions became common. Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing was soon filled with students who had taken spills down the stairs or bumped into walls. The Slytherins, wrapped tightly in their robes and looking particularly moody, trudged around the castle, paying no attention to the enchanted paint tubes hovering above them, still attempting to squeeze out the last of their curses.

Filch, ever the vigilant caretaker, was on the warpath, convinced the Weasley twins were behind the chaos. He followed them doggedly, his wrinkled nose twitching as if he could sniff out the detention-worthy mischief. But, try as he might, Filch couldn't find any evidence to link the twins to the self-cursing paint tubes. Nevertheless, the entire castle had dubbed them the "Weasley paint tubes."

Even Percy Weasley, Gryffindor's prefect and the twins' older brother, was fuming. His face was so sour every time he saw one of the tubes floating by that some students joked he looked more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor. He adamantly denied his brothers' involvement whenever questioned.

Anthony, leaving the library, happened to overhear the twins talking to a younger student who was desperately trying to get more paint tubes from them.

"Come on, Fred! Please!" the younger student pleaded. "I've got detention with Snape! Don't you want to see paint tubes flying through the Slytherin common room?"

Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance but shook their heads, grinning. "Sorry, mate, can't help you. We don't know where the paint tubes came from. Maybe it was Peeves," Fred said with a wink.

Anthony paused at the doorway, pretending to be suddenly engrossed in a copy of Witch Weekly from the nearby rack. The magazine was full of wizards and witches competing for the "Most Charming Smile" award, their tiny portraits smiling seductively or adjusting their hair as if they knew Anthony was watching. Feeling rather awkward, he turned the page to a recipe for broccoli and shrimp.

Just then, Ron Weasley and his friends walked by and overheard the conversation.

"Give her one, Fred!" Ron said impatiently. "Parvati won't rat you out!"

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, said sternly to the younger student, "Parvati, using the paint tubes will just make your detention worse!"

"I don't care!" Parvati Patil replied heatedly. "Those Slytherins insulted me, and they're going to regret it!"

Without a word, Harry Potter, who had been standing quietly beside his friends, reached into his bag, pulled out two paint tubes, and pressed them into Parvati's hands. "Go wild," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped in shock.

Harry shrugged. "Snape hates me enough anyway," he said nonchalantly, though he added quickly to Parvati, "Just don't mention it was from me."

Parvati nodded, tucking the paint tube into her bag as though it were a dragon egg, glancing around nervously before heading off with a guilty expression.

"You really shouldn't encourage this," Hermione said, turning to the Weasley twins. "The castle is a mess because of those tubes! And besides, Slytherin hasn't caused any trouble lately, so there's no need to provoke them."

"Get real, Hermione!" Ron retorted, a little too loudly. "Was it Snape who called you an annoying know-it-all, or Malfoy who told Parvati she's a troll with no brains, just hair?"

Hermione's lips tightened, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she looked at Harry with concern. "You've got enough to worry about, Harry."

Harry, however, waved off her concern. "I do, but honestly," he turned to Fred and George, "you two really need to watch out. These paint tubes are everywhere, and if something happens to you before the match, Wood will either kill you—or worse, Snape might."

Fred grinned. "Oh, don't remind us. Wood will probably finish Filch off after he's done with us."

George leaned in, speaking quietly as students rushed off to dinner, "Besides, we're careful, Hermione. We didn't leave any evidence behind, and there's a match the day after tomorrow. McGonagall's not going to punish us when there's no proof."

Hermione frowned, but Harry and Ron snickered at the Weasley twins' logic.

"Professor McGonagall wouldn't go easy on you just because there's a match," Hermione said sternly.

Fred winked. "No evidence, no punishment, Hermione. It's simple. Besides, we're not worried about McGonagall—she's fair. But Snape..." He gave a mock shudder, "Snape would have us scrubbing cauldrons for weeks if he gets a hint it was us."

...

This weekend, the weather was perfect, and the Quidditch pitch was packed with excited students. Weasley's infamous paint tubes had made their mark on the stands, splattering bold colors across the Gryffindor section. Meanwhile, Slytherin had made an impressive counterattack with a giant Slytherin flag floating above the stands.

The flag featured animated, colorful snakes slithering around the edges of the Quidditch pitch. Whenever a Ravenclaw player flew by, the snakes on the flag would open their mouths as if to devour them, but when a Slytherin flew past, the snakes would spit out harmless bile, much to the delight of the Slytherins.

Anthony sat among a group of Gryffindors, including Hagrid. Noticing the absence of Parvati, he asked about her.

Harry, surprised that Anthony knew Parvati's name, explained, "Snape's got her in detention for a whole month. I think she's on her 568th badge polish by now."

Hermione muttered that it was obvious professors knew all the students' names, but Ron pointed out that Parvati's detention wasn't exactly a secret.

Anthony nodded, then asked, "So, which team are you supporting today?"

Hagrid, taken aback, said, "Ravenclaw, o' course!"

"But," Anthony said, glancing around, "if Ravenclaw wins, Gryffindor's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup get slimmer, right?"

"Doesn't matter!" Seamus shouted, his eyes fixed on the pitch. "Ravenclaw's got this one in the bag!"

Dean, however, was staring jealously at the enormous Slytherin flag hovering in the air. "We need something like that," he said. "Imagine a giant lion taking a bite out of that snake."

Anthony, holding a pair of magical binoculars, studied the scales on the animated snake closely. "It's quite impressive. That's not simple magic. They must've put a lot of effort into it."

"More like a lot of Galleons," Ron grumbled. "They probably had it custom-made. Remember that massive package they got yesterday?"

Hagrid, shaking his head, replied, "We don't need tricks like that. We'll beat 'em fair and square, won't we, Harry?" He gave Harry a hearty pat on the back, nearly sending him flying off his seat. "Oh, sorry 'bout that!"

Seamus scoffed. "Slytherins and their fancy theatrics. They always go for flashy nonsense."

But no matter how much the Gryffindors belittled the giant Slytherin flag in the sky, its effect on the Ravenclaws was undeniable. The constant hissing of the snake and the looming threat of a massive python with teeth the size of a grown man leaping toward them was unnerving, even for seasoned players. It was clear that the Ravenclaw team was rattled.

After Slytherin scored five consecutive goals, the Ravenclaw captain called a timeout. Anthony watched through his telescope as the blue-clad players descended, gathering around their captain. The fatigue on his face was evident as he pointed to the giant snake in the sky while speaking with his Seeker. The other team members appeared frustrated, gesturing toward the snake flags and voicing their complaints.

Moments later, the Ravenclaw captain approached Madam Hooch, protesting the Slytherin display.

"Is this even allowed?" Anthony wondered aloud, glancing up at the enormous snake flag coiling in the sky, its size dwarfing even the legendary Basilisk from Hogwarts history. "Is there a rule against something like this?"

Hermione, sitting nearby, answered with a frown. "Nope. The rules only say you can't block the players' view, obstruct the broomsticks' flight path, or prevent the spectators from seeing the match."

Anthony nodded, remembering the banner they'd once made to cheer on Harry. Hermione had probably memorized all the rules back then.

He looked back at the flag, high above the pitch, certainly not obstructing anyone's view. Slytherin must have done their homework, he mused. They'd likely combed through the rulebook, making sure their intimidating display was technically legal. Anthony wouldn't have been surprised if they'd consulted a lawyer to ensure their tactics were flawless.

His gaze shifted to the Slytherin stands, where the team sat with smug, triumphant expressions, watching Ravenclaw's protest with amusement. A senior student leaned over, muttering something to his group, and they burst into laughter.

"This is just the beginning," Anthony could make out the words from his lips.