It was eleven o'clock sharp when the Quidditch stands, brimming with anticipation, erupted with excitement. Every student and teacher at Hogwarts had gathered, filling the seats that floated high in the air. Many clutched binoculars, peering eagerly down at the field below.
Then came the moment.
As Cedric Diggory stepped onto the pitch, a collective gasp spread across the crowd like wildfire.
He wasn't just a first-year student playing Quidditch—that alone was rare enough.
He was the captain.
The Seeker.
The youngest Quidditch captain in Hogwarts history.
The youngest Seeker.
This wasn't just unheard of—it was almost absurd. People came to Hogwarts to learn magic. Cedric had come to dominate it. Eleven years old, and already he'd outpaced students with years of experience.
Most eleven-year-olds were still figuring out how to hover properly on a broomstick.
Cedric?
He soared.
The Hufflepuffs, naturally, were unbothered by the gasps and whispers of the crowd. They had expected this.
With perfect coordination, they unfurled a massive banner in khaki yellow that shimmered in the sunlight. The bold golden letters spelled out:
"Cedric: Hufflepuff's Guiding Star."
Around the glowing words, a collection of tiny enchanted figures danced like cheerleaders, forming colorful patterns midair.
They had borrowed the style from his first dramatic entrance at King's Cross Station—and now, they were owning it.
The stadium shook with roars of support—not just from Hufflepuff, but from Ravenclaw as well. The ever-studious House, usually calm and restrained, was swept up in the competitive spirit.
Even before the match began, tension and energy crackled in the air like a storm.
"Are you ready, children?" called Madam Hooch, standing at the center of the pitch, broom in hand. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, but her tone remained stern. "The game must be played fair and square!"
Both teams gathered, nodding in agreement.
"Mount your brooms!"
A shrill whistle echoed through the grounds.
In a blink, both teams shot into the air.
The game was on.
"The Quaffle's been taken by Hufflepuff—again," shouted Lee Jordan, already on the edge of his seat. "I don't know if it's just me, but Hufflepuff looks... faster. Stronger. Sharper."
He wasn't imagining things.
The Ravenclaw team could feel it too. Their opponents had improved dramatically since last year. The Hufflepuff players flew with crisp precision. Their passes were tighter, and their pressure more aggressive. The change was unmistakable.
Within just two minutes, Hufflepuff had scored three goals.
Three!
Panic began to settle in among the Ravenclaws.
If this pace kept up, the match would turn into a rout.
And all of them—players and spectators alike—found themselves glancing skyward, toward the figure hovering high above the game, still as a shadow carved into the clouds.
Cedric hadn't moved.
Not once.
He sat poised on his broom, his eyes half-closed, almost meditative.
Yet somehow, the entire match felt like it was revolving around him.
"The lad's a monster," muttered one of the Weasley twins, exchanging glances with his brother as they managed their running bets.
"A brilliant one," the other replied.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin section, opinions were split.
The upper-year students watched Cedric with narrowed eyes. Hufflepuff's rise in power threatened their longstanding dominance. They didn't like it—didn't like him.
But the younger Slytherins? They were starstruck.
They gazed at Cedric the way one might gaze at a hero carved in green marble. They whispered amongst themselves about how to invite him to wear the custom Slytherin robes they'd sewn—how to coax him into joining their ranks, even if just in spirit.
"It's cold," one first-year muttered, "He should wear something warmer."
"Maybe a green scarf," another suggested, deadpan.
Meanwhile, down on the pitch, Ravenclaw's Beater, Jensen, clenched his jaw. He'd had enough.
"I don't buy it," he muttered.
With a sudden burst of speed, he smashed a Bludger directly toward Cedric.
It whistled through the air, iron and magic fused, hurtling straight for the first-year captain who still hadn't moved.
"Captain!" several Hufflepuffs cried out.
The Ravenclaw Beaters panicked, realizing what was happening too late. They wheeled around to intercept the Bludger—but they weren't fast enough.
The Bludger hurtled toward Cedric like a cannonball.
But still, he didn't move.
The stadium held its breath.
And then—
Whoosh!
The Bludger tore past empty air.
Cedric was no longer there.
He hadn't flinched. He hadn't looked.
He had simply drifted, ever so slightly, out of harm's way.
"What—what was that?" Jensen gasped.
He rubbed his eyes, but Cedric was still there—perfectly balanced, still on his broom, half-lidded and aloof, as if the whole thing had been a minor inconvenience.
And just when the crowd began to murmur, the Bludger's magic reactivated.
It curved in midair, redirected by its enchantment, and hurtled toward Cedric once more from behind.
This time, it was even faster.
Cedric's eyes snapped open.
A grin broke across his face.
"This feels amazing," he said aloud, almost to himself.
Then he leaned forward and shot off—straight toward Jensen.
"What's he doing?!" Lee Jordan stood up, nearly dropping his megaphone. "Is he going to tackle Jensen? No, wait! Jensen still has his club—he could—he could whack him!"
"Jordan," came Professor McGonagall's voice, cutting sharply through the speaker system.
"Right—sorry!" Lee sat back down, sheepish. "Violence is, of course, unacceptable... and... uh... bad."
His eyes didn't leave Cedric for a second.
The Hufflepuff Seeker zipped past Jensen, so close that the space between them could've been measured in centimeters. And just as he passed, Cedric completed a tight 360-degree spiral in midair.
The Bludger, locked on, missed him again.
But this time, it didn't veer off harmlessly.
It struck Jensen full in the face.
With a loud crack, he reeled backward, nose bleeding.
"Incredible!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Cedric just... just reflected the Bludger! A 360-degree spiral turn! He didn't even touch it—but he turned it into a counterattack!"
Gasps turned to cheers.
And Lee, flushed with excitement, was just getting started.
"The great Hufflepuff Seeker! Cedric Diggory channels the legacy of Dimitrov! Zograf! Levsky! The proud spirits of the Bulgarian national team live on in this first-year prodigy!"
The speaker system crackled slightly, before McGonagall's voice cut in once more: "You've made your point, Mr. Jordan."
But the stadium was already electric.
Cedric didn't even glance back at Jensen.
He was already racing forward, hair swept by the wind, instincts sharpened to a razor's edge.
The air whispered to him.
Every shift in the breeze, every movement in the sky—he felt it all. It was as though the wind itself painted a map in his mind, giving him a 360-degree view of the entire field.
There were no blind spots.
Every ten meters, every shadow, every rival player—it was all his to read.
He moved like a wraith, untouchable.
Every move he made pushed the broomstick to its limits. He tried every advanced maneuver he'd ever studied:
The Sloth Grip Roll.
The Transylvanian Tackle Feint.
Even the legendary Wronski Feint.
He executed them all, flawlessly.
And still, it wasn't enough.
He needed a better broom.
He made a mental note to purchase one over the summer—one that could push his speed up another thirty percent.
Because this feeling—this total, exhilarating freedom—was unlike anything else.
Cedric was no longer just a boy.
He was an aerial phantom, an elf dancing through the clouds.
And then, without hesitation—
He saw it.
The golden flash of wings.
The Snitch.
And in that moment, the crowd, the cheers, the
bloodied Jensen—everything else faded.
Only the Snitch remained.
And Cedric Diggory went after it.
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