Hogwarts vs. Beauxbatons

October 31, 1992, 6:00 PM, Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts

Harry Potter

The Quidditch pitch almost buzzed with movement, creating an anticipatory tension. The excited murmurs of the crowd echoed through the stands, the spectators eagerly awaiting the upcoming match. The sky above was clear and as dark as it was when the enchantment was enacted, and the gentle breeze seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself was poised for the thrilling spectacle about to unfold.

In the midst of all of this, Harry Potter stood, his Hogwarts Quidditch uniform impeccably donned. His fingers nervously traced the fabric of his robes as he absorbed the energy building in the atmosphere.

The excitement of the crowd heightened the sense of occasion, and the looming match felt like an impending storm ready to break free. Nervous energy coursed through Harry, broomstick in hand. The looming match was just minutes away, and the weight of the upcoming game pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Fidgeting and adjusting his uniform, Harry had to admit it to himself: the pressure was almost suffocating. This was unlike any match he’d taken part of.

This match— this first match— held a unique tension, distinct from the in-school contests of the previous year.

It wasn’t about to play against Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin; this time, the stakes were higher.

The League of Nine brought a whole new level of competition, and the weight of representing his school added an extra layer of significance to the upcoming match, making the atmosphere around him feel heavy.

Doubt lingered in Harry’s mind, a most unwelcome companion. The weight of fear pressed upon him— what if he faltered? Despite the rigorous training he had undergone over the past month, an unsettling feeling lingered within him. The prospect of failure loomed, casting shadows on his self-confidence.

“All right, everyone; listen up.” Oliver says, gesturing for everyone to come together.

The team gathered around Oliver, their faces reflecting a mix of anticipation and determination.

As Harry’s gaze swept across his teammates, he noted Oliver’s furrowed brow, a subtle sign of the captain’s concealed tension.

Fred and George exchanged a quick, reassuring glance, their mischievous grins attempting to mask their nerves. Davies, the vice captain, wore a focused expression, subtly tapping his broom handle against his leg. Emily, the Chaser from Hufflepuff, nervously adjusted her gloves, while the one from Slytherin, Marcus, stood with a composed demeanor, though a slight twitch in his jaw revealed his own inner unease.

Oliver met the gazes of his teammates and began.

“I know we’re all feeling the pressure here. This is the League of Nine, a whole different game than what we’ve known. It’s not just Gryffindor’s pride, or Slytherin’s or Hufflepuff’s or Ravenclaw’s on the line; it’s all of Hogwarts’ pride. We’ve got Roger, Emily, and Marcus here with us, and we’re in this together. We’ve trained hard, we know our plays, and most importantly, we trust each other.”

He paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in before continuing. “Yeah, we’re all feeling like we might break into shivers— it’s all I can do to not run to the loo, right now. And that’s okay; it means we care. But remember, Beauxbatons’ team is feeling it too. We’re going to give it our all, play smart, and show everyone what Hogwarts is made of. We’ve got a legacy to uphold, and we’re not going to let anything or anyone stand in our way. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin— today, we’re all one team. Let’s fly out there and make Hogwarts proud!”

The team shared determined nods, its collective resolve strengthening as the announcer began their slow introduction.

Harry only half-listened to the announcer, his mind preoccupied with the upcoming match. Before he could fully immerse himself in his thoughts, Fred and George grasped his shoulders from each side.

“You all right?” Fred inquired.

Harry nodded, his nerves evident, but a determined glint remained in his eyes. “I think so.”

The three shared a brief moment of solidarity, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

As each member of the Hogwarts Quidditch team was announced, the crowd’s excitement reached a crescendo.

“Oliver Wood, Keeper!”

“Fred Weasley, Beater!”

“George Weasley, Beater!”

“Roger Davies, Chaser!”

“Emily Harper, Chaser!”

“Marcus Flint, Chaser!”

He watched them go to the cheers and applause of the crowd, and Harry felt a mix of nerves and anticipation as his turn approached.

“And finally, Harry Potter, Seeker!”

With that, Harry kicked off the ground, joining his teammates in the exhilarating flight, ready to give their all.

As the Beauxbatons team was announced, Harry’s focus shifted inward, attempting to calm his racing heart. The names of the opposing players became a distant murmur, drowned out by the drumming anticipation within him.

Just as he managed to center himself, the referee released the snitch, its fluttering wings catching the light.

The stadium held its breath as Harry’s eyes locked onto the elusive golden ball, his heart now synchronized with its erratic flight.

The match began with a thunderous roar from the crowd, echoing across the Quidditch stadium. The air was charged with anticipation as the teams took to the sky on their brooms in a whirlwind of chaos and elation, their energy finally allowed to erupt in movement.

Oliver Wood, ever the imposing figure, floated in front of the goalposts, his eyes scanning the approaching Bludgers and the Beauxbatons Chasers making their way toward him.

Seemed they took initial possession.

The enemy chasers weaved through the air in a coordinated dance, passing the Quaffle with impressive speed and accuracy. His Chasers responded with agile maneuvers, trying to intercept Beauxbatons’ advance, but only managed to delay them.

Oliver smiled, watching as the lead enemy Chaser approached him…

And promptly was forced to throw his Quaffle back as he narrowly dodged a Bludger to the face.

“Well done, George!” 

Meanwhile, Hogwarts’ lead Chaser, Davies, intercepted the Quaffle and led the counterattack, prompting the announcer to go wild.

“And an incredible display of skill by Hogwarts! Davies takes possession, speeding down the pitch. What a strategic move by both Chasers and Beaters!”

Harry smiled as the Twins went to work with grins on their faces.

“The Bludgers are in full swing, and it seems the twin beaters of Hogwarts don’t seem keen on letting up any time soon. Beauxbatons have their hands full!” The announcer continued, capturing the ebb and flow of the aerial war taking place.

Davies expertly passed the Quaffle to Flint, who boldly maneuvered through Beauxbatons’ defenders, disrupted as they were by the Twins.

With a powerful throw, Flint sent the Quaffle soaring through the opposing team’s goal hoops, scoring a goal for Hogwarts. The cheers from the Hogwarts supporters reverberated through the stadium as the scoreboard reflected the points.

HOGWARTS 10 – 0 BEAUXBATONS

“Hogwarts scores, establishing an early lead! Will Beauxbatons be able to keep them from going further? I for one can’t wait to find out!”

The Hogwarts team, fueled by their early success, continued to press their advantage.

Davies, Harper and Flint orchestrated seamless plays, scoring a few more goals that heightened the crowd’s excitement.

HOGWARTS 30 – 0 BEAUXBATONS

The announcer’s voice echoed through the stadium, capturing the escalating tension.

“As Hogwarts dominates the field with their skillful Chasers, the question on everyone’s mind is, can Beauxbatons mount a comeback? The game is intense, but let’s not forget the ever-elusive Golden Snitch, which can turn this match completely around! Where could it be, and who will be the one to catch it?”

Even as the announcer spoke, Harry’s eyes darted across the sky, scanning for the Snitch.

However, a hint of worry crept over him as he observed Fred and George conserving their energy. Everyone had been giving it their all, but their stamina wouldn’t allow them to keep it up for much longer.

Just as these thoughts went through his head, he saw it happen. Fred missed one of his shots, allowing the lead Beauxbatons Chaser to intercept the Quaffle and launch a counterattack.

The announcer’s voice conveyed the shifting dynamics on the field. “Beauxbatons seizes the opportunity! Will they be able to turn the tide?”

Beauxbatons executed a dazzling display of teamwork, weaving through the chaos of bludgers and opposing Chasers.

The Quaffle moved with incredible speed as they passed it among themselves, skillfully evading the Hogwarts Chasers and creating an opening in the defense.

“There it is!” The announcer cried as the lead Chaser let loose a powerful shot, only for it to be blocked by Wood.

“Blocked by the Hogwarts Keeper, Wood—” The announcer stopped what he was saying with a cry of shock, as another Chaser made a spectacular move, snatching the Quaffle mid-air and launching it off to the right, into the waiting hands of the third Chaser, who scored without any fanfare.

The crowd roared in a mix of cheers and gasps as the Beauxbatons team celebrated their well-earned goal. The announcer’s voice resonated through the stadium, capturing the intensity of the moment.

“Absolutely magnificent! What a brilliant play by Beauxbatons! Hogwarts may be leading, but this match is far from decided. The Quaffle skill on display is simply extraordinary, making for an exhilarating competition on the Quidditch pitch! And, with the Snitch still in play, anything can happen. The stakes are high as the teams battle for supremacy! This is Quidditch at its finest!”

The Quidditch match intensified, both teams engaging in fierce exchanges.

Wood called out strategic maneuvers they had been tirelessly practicing. He barked commands, directing his team with precision.

“Fred, George, Pincer!” Wood’s voice cut through the chaos as the Weasley twins swiftly coordinated their movements.

The two boys grinned and sent one of the Bludgers at the rear enemy Chaser before they dove towards the lead Beauxbatons Chaser in a well-executed pincer, causing the boy to panic and pass the Quaffle haphazardly, allowing Davies to intercept it and lead a counterattack.

“That bought us some room!” Wood called out to Harry. “Potter, you’d better find that Snitch and soon! I don’t know how long we can keep this up for.”

As the match progressed, the team continued to showcase their practiced plays. Wood’s leadership and the team’s coordination were evident, but the Snitch remained elusive.

However, despite their tactical prowess, Beauxbatons managed to secure a lead.

HOGWARTS 70 – 80 BEAUXBATONS

On and on they went, the other members of the team relentlessly facing each other while Harry continued to watch, frustration filling his every being.

It gripped Harry as he strained his eyes, desperately searching for the elusive Snitch. Though only minutes had passed, each passing second felt like an eternity, and anxiety coursed through him.

The opposing Seeker’s movements drew his attention, and then, at last, he saw it ahead— the glimmering Snitch, fluttering in the distance like a tiny, golden beacon.

Finally!

A surge of determination filled Harry as he urged his broom forward, heart pounding. The Quidditch match continued its tumultuous dance around him, but his focus narrowed to the small, winged ball that held the key to victory. The world around him blurred as he chased after the other Seeker and the Snitch ahead, the stakes higher than ever.

“Both Seekers have moved! Have they seen the Snitch? They’re both weaving through the chaos, eyes fixed on that elusive prize. Which Seeker will be the hero today? Potter or Rambon?”

The nimble Beauxbatons Seeker danced through the sky, making it challenging for Harry to keep up. 

The Quidditch pitch buzzed with excitement as the announcer’s voice echoed through the stadium.

Harry’s eyes remained locked on the Snitch, determined to outmaneuver the Beauxbatons Seeker. His opponent darted through the air with impressive agility, adding an extra layer of challenge to the chase.

The wind rushed past Harry’s ears as he skillfully navigated his Nimbus, mirroring the opposing Seeker’s every move and drawing the praise of the announcer, but Harry was no longer listening to him.

There was nothing but the game now. In the high-stakes duel between Potter and Rambon, the fate of the match hung in the balance.

As Rambon was forced to dodge a Bludger, expertly aimed by one of the Twins, Harry seized the opportunity to close the gap.

The strategic move had given him a chance, and he was determined to make the most of it. Grateful for their assistance, Harry pushed his Nimbus to its limits, inching closer to the elusive Snitch.

“The tension is palpable, folks! Both Seekers are neck and neck in this race for the Snitch. Potter and Rambon are giving us a breathtaking display of skill and speed!”

Just a little more…

Harry focused every ounce of determination into his pursuit. Feeling the surge of adrenaline, he urged his Nimbus forward. 

The air crackled with anticipation as Harry concentrated on the chase. The Nimbus beneath him responded to the surge of magical energy flowing through him, and in a heartbeat, he felt a jolt that propelled him forward, the broom responding with newfound speed.

Too elated to be shocked at what he had just done, Harry managed to grasp the Snitch, not noticing the Bludger coming straight at him.

As his hand closed around his target, he felt a sharp impact on his hip, causing a cry of pain to escape him as he descended to the pitch below, having lost control of his broom.

Somehow, Harry focused through the pain and managed to regain some measure of control, changing his trajectory to minimize the damage he would take.

However, the inevitable impact with the pitch awaited him. 

His hip, the point of contact with the Bludger, once again bore the brunt of the force. The pain radiated through him, a sharp reminder of the physical toll exacted by the high-speed pursuit and the subsequent collision.

The crowd went silent.

Groaning, Harry lifted his hand up, ignoring his disorientation to show the proof of his victory.

A moment passed, and then another.

The crowd roared in approval.

He had done it.

“And there you have it! Hogwarts emerges triumphant with a breathtaking Snitch capture by none other than the remarkable Harry Potter, leaving the score at 230 – 100! What an electrifying performance! Today, Hogwarts reigns supreme against Beauxbatons in this heart-pounding Quidditch showdown!”

As the cheers of the crowd reverberated around him, Harry let his hand drop as he lay momentarily still, trying to figure out how badly he’d been injured.

All he really knew was that his left side felt like it was on fire.

The team approached, a mix of congratulations and concern on their faces.

“We did it!” “Well done, everyone.”

Even Flint, offering a display of concern, met Harry’s gaze before quickly turning away.

“You alright, Potter?” He asked, the tension between Houses temporarily eclipsed by the shared triumph.

Harry smiled. 

“I’ll be fine.” He said even as the Healers arrived to check on him before agreeing to take him away, telling him it wouldn’t be long.

“Party’s tonight, Potter!” Wood called out, slapping both Davies and Flint on the back. “Everyone’s invited!”

Harry laughed at that, and then he cringed. It hurt to laugh.

oooo

October 31, 1992, 10:00 PM, Great Hall, Hogwarts

Adam Clarke

The upper years had gone all out for this.

Amid the celebration, I found a quiet spot to observe. The usually distinct house divisions blurred, and for a single night, Hogwarts felt like a united front. Laughter echoed, and the air buzzed with shared triumph.

I leaned against a wall, nursing a butterbeer as students from Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff chatted animatedly.

Despite the joyous atmosphere, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if this unity was only a fleeting illusion, a product of shared victory.

Deep-seated house rivalries didn’t vanish overnight, but in this moment, I appreciated what I was seeing.

Maybe there’s hope for them. I thought to myself, taking a quick swig.

“Easy on the butterbeer, Adam.” Mira’s voice called out from beside me, drawing my attention. 

Her wavy chestnut hair cascaded down her shoulders, and a playful smile adorned her face. “Don’t want you seeing double before the night’s over.”

I scoffed. “As if that could ever happen from one bottle.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure.” I said and took another sip, focusing my attention on the crowd again.

“You know.” She said in a conversational tone. “A few people wanted to congratulate you on your duel, but they changed their mind when they saw you.”

“Huh?” I said, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Adam…” Mira said, and I could sense the discomfort in her tone of voice. “You look… angry.”

My eyes widened in shock and confusion. “What? I do?”

Mira only nodded, her concern slowly giving way to wry amusement. 

“Well, I’m not.” I said, feeling a little defensive. “I’m just thinking.”

“I guessed as much.” Mira said, clinking her bottle against mine, making the butterbeer slosh around as she slowly brought it to her lips. “Cheers.”

“Skål.” I took another sip.

A few moments of relative, companionable silence passed before Mira spoke again.

“Isn’t it strange seeing all the houses celebrating together?” Mira remarked, her eyes scanning the diverse gathering in the Great Hall.

I nodded in agreement, my gaze drifting towards Harry surrounded by a mix of Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs.

“The wonders of Quidditch, I suppose.” I said, acknowledging the unique ability of the sport to bring unity among Houses that often stood divided.

The magic of the game seemed to transcend the usual boundaries, but I knew this was only temporary.

The lines are already being drawn. I thought as my mood darkened. Sooner or later, these kids will have to pick sides. In the original timeline, it began in ’95, but in this timeline…

“Adam.” Mira called out again, sending me a look of displeasure. “You’re doing it again.”

I sighed. “Sorry.”

“Not a partier, I take it.”

“Not really.” I said. “I don’t mind a little bit of fun, but it’s been a long day. I should have declined the invitation.”

There was much for me to think about— a lot to process.

I shifted my gaze from the celebrating students to the chaperones, Professors Vector and Sinistra, who were discreetly keeping an eye on the festivities.

Mira’s voice brought me back. “If you’re not here for the party, why did you come?”

I considered her question for a moment before responding. “I don’t know.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

I only nodded in response, causing Mira to chuckle. “You’re a strange one, Adam.”

I frowned, but still offered a small smile. 

“I’ve heard that way too many times.”

In the distance, Ophelia stumbled over a couple of students, drawing annoyed shouts from them. Mira leaned in and whispered, changing the subject. “See what I mean? This is what happens when you drink too much.”

“Oh come on.” I said, unable to help but smirk even as the girl continued to approach. “I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“Is that so…?” Mira commented as Ophelia finally joined us, looking a bit disheveled.

“Adam!” She exclaimed with a wide grin before I could give Mira my retort. “You’re here! I didn’t think you’d be the party type.”

“I’m here, Ophelia.” I replied, nodding. “Though not exactly embracing the party spirit like you seem to be.”

“Could have fooled me.” She gestured at the bottle in my hand before raising her own towards me and Mira. “Loosen up, you two! It’s a celebration!”

“He’s not exactly the celebration type.” Mira said, though her eyes narrowed. “And, what do you mean, ‘you two’?”

Ophelia, in her slightly tipsy state, nudged Mira playfully. “You know what I mean. When are you going to work up the courage to talk to Wood, huh?”

Mira shot Ophelia a sharp look.

“I’m not avoiding him.” She said, even as her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. “I just don’t see the need to approach him right now. We’re all celebrating, and he’s with his team surrounded by dozens. It’s not the right moment.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Or perhaps you’re just nervous because he’s the Gryffindor heartthrob, and you’re worried you’ll turn into a stuttering mess in front of him.”

Mira’s cheeks flushed even deeper. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not interested in Wood that way. I’m just enjoying the party.”

I couldn’t help but grin at their banter, taking another sip of my butterbeer.

“Lucky for you, big sis Ophelia has you covered!” Ophelia announced, her tone full of triumph.

Mira’s expression froze, her usual composed demeanor replaced by a touch of fear. Slowly, she turned to face Ophelia, her voice a cautious whisper. “…What did you do?”

Ophelia only smirked and gestured toward the heart of the party. I followed their gaze to find Oliver Wood staring directly at us.

“You didn’t.” Mira gasped, her eyes widening as Ophelia nudged her forward.

“Go on, now.” Ophelia urged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Thank me later.”

Mira shot Ophelia a half-hearted glare, promising future retribution. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“Let’s revisit that question tomorrow, bye!” Ophelia swiftly dismissed Mira, practically shooing her away before redirecting her attention toward me.

“Brutal.” I remarked, my shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

It was remarkable how Ophelia transformed when under the influence. The timid and cautious girl vanished, replaced by this bold and charismatic version. I didn’t quite know what to make of it, but I liked her more this way.

Ophelia didn’t respond right away, offering me another butterbeer as she resumed her own drinking. With a muttered expression of gratitude, I accepted the bottle and took a sip. 

“How are you feeling after your duel?” She inquired.

“I still feel a twinge in my ankle.” I admitted, glancing down at my leg. “Maybe I should have stayed a bit longer in the medical tent.”

Ophelia’s eyes met mine, and she spoke with genuine admiration. “You were impressive out there, Adam, truly. Quite an incredible show of skill.”

Caught off guard by the compliment, I felt warmth rise to my cheeks.

“Uh, thanks.” I stammered, unsure how to respond to the unexpected praise.

Ophelia just smiled, her gaze lingering for a moment before she took a sip of her drink. The atmosphere around us seemed to shift, and I found myself feeling incredibly self conscious.

She wasn’t… was she?

Caught in the unexpected realization, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of surprise and morbid curiosity.

Was she interested? I discreetly stole a few glances in her direction, and on the third attempt, she caught my eye, responding with an inviting smile that hinted at something more.

Well, this party just took an unexpected turn.

Curious about Ophelia’s intentions, I followed her gaze as she motioned towards the exit.

“I want to talk to you about something.” She said before making her way to the side. I observed her for a moment before she turned her head back to me. “Well?”

The exuberant noise of the Hall became muffled as I followed Ophelia into the relative quiet and darkness of the hallway outside.

Still, however, there were many onlookers— mostly different couples snogging in various corners. It made me even more off base.

“Walk with me.” She said before I could open my mouth, and I acquiesced, trailing her steps.

Ophelia led the way, taking us silently through dimly lit corridors to the bridge overlooking the lake. The soft sounds of the water lapping against the shore created a calming ambiance, contrasting against the tumult within me. She paused, leaning on the railing and looking out over the lake. The Moon’s gentle reflection danced on the water’s surface, casting a serene glow.

I joined her, and for a moment, we shared the silent beauty of the scene.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I said, feeling both curious and afraid of what she might say next.

“Oh, this and that…” Ophelia said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye as she took a long swig of her butterbeer.

A mixture of curiosity and trepidation welled up within me.

“This and that.” I echoed, my eyes searching her face for any clues.

She set her bottle on the railing before pushing off and continuing, her gaze briefly meeting mine. “I never did thank you for what you did for me.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, and I gulped at the possible implications.

“You don’t need to thank me.” I replied, unsure of where the conversation was heading.

She turned to face me fully, her expression serious yet with a hint of playfulness. “No, seriously.”

“I—”

“Adam.” She insisted, and my countenance turned serious.

“…Yes?”

“From what I’ve learned, you’re the only one who had an idea of what was going on, and you were the only one to do anything.”

“How do you…”

“Know?” Ophelia said, and a haunted gaze entered her expression for a moment; she looked away. “I’m starting to remember. He was hurting you, too…”

I shook my head furiously. “No, no. Not like…”

I trailed off, unsure how to put it delicately.

“Still.” Ophelia said, turning back to me. “You were in a pretty bad spot too, but you saved me, and the entire school besides.”

“I didn’t do it for them. I—” I said, anger flaring for about as long as it took for Ophelia to walk up to me, washing it away with her sheer closeness. She was close enough that I could smell her perfume, a light scent jasmine. She stared at me with inscrutable eyes as she backed me into the railing. I stared down at the drop, feeling my insides lurch.

Ophelia’s hand cupped my chin, guiding my gaze back to hers, while her other hand found its place behind my back. The world around us seemed to fade as her eyes locked onto mine.

My world froze as Ophelia’s lips met mine, a sudden and unexpected kiss that sent shockwaves through me. Time seemed to stretch, and my mind struggled to catch up with the reality unfolding before me.

As she slowly pulled away, her gaze fixed on mine, the moment hung in the air. The quiet surroundings amplified the echo of our connection, leaving me standing on the bridge, still struggling to process what had just happened.

I remained rooted in place, my thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind. The taste of cherries— and some butterbeer— and the lingering warmth on my lips became the focus of my thoughts.

“My hero.” She said, finally breaking the silence of the quiet night around us.

The initial shock morphed into a whirlwind of emotions— confusion, surprise, and a hint of something else I couldn’t quite grasp. “Wha—”

“Enjoyed your reward a little too well, did you?” Ophelia said, a knowing smile on her face.

I blushed and averted my gaze, not really knowing what to say. On the inside, I was freaking out.

“Would you like another?” Ophelia asked with a teasing glint in her eyes.

My mind screamed ‘yes,’ but all I could manage was a stammered response.

“I’ll take that as a yes…” She giggled and pulled me closer again.

“I suppose I could give you another…” She whispered, and our lips met once again, this time in a far more passionate dance.

I didn’t notice a certain female ghost floating in the distance behind me. She stared at us for a few moments before gliding away, her expression inordinately pleased.

Had I seen it, I would have been even more confused, but as it were, I opted to give myself up to the raging feelings coursing through me.

What a night.