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With unbridled ambition, Happy saw something that others missed. As the Slytherin boy fell from the broom, knocked out, a scheme developed in his devious little head.
'I'm lucky, and if the Bludger can be aimed based on luck too, then…?'
His eyes scanned the field, assessing the positions of his opponents and teammates while his hands tightly gripped the broomstick. Now, he was fully confident in this match.
"George! Send the Bludger my way!" Happy shouted as he looked at the Slytherins near him with a sly, threatening smile.
As soon as one Bludger came near him, he used his bat and slammed it toward the Slytherins.
A small scream resonated soon after, and another Slytherin fell to the ground.
Lee Jordan's enthusiasm knew no bounds. He bellowed in disbelief at the turn of events, "Merlin's beard! What has become of Quidditch? TWO HEADSHOTS!"
Happy, went wild on the field. He wasn't running away from the Bludger, but instead going towards it, and in response, the Slytherins were also running away from him. But, Happy always had a lucky shot.
"ONE MORE HEADSHOT! Slytherin is down by three, and their substitutes are running out!" Lee Jordan announced.
Happy smirked and looked at the bench outside the field where the rest of the Slytherin substitute members were. So, this time he decided to send the Bludger there.
Yes, they were not safe even on the ground.
The ball struck with a brutal force, connecting with a Slytherin boy's face in a resounding smack. A split second later, the girl beside him was also hit, the impact rendering them both unconscious, with blood streaming from their noses.
The crowd went crazy in mind, but they remained silent. It was more shock than excitement. Heck, even the players on the field had stopped in their tracks as all the Slytherin and Gryffindor players looked at Happy in amazement or shock.
"Is this perhaps the best Beater in Quidditch history?" Lee wondered on the mic.
Happy didn't stop, however, since the Bludger kept on coming towards him, and he could easily smack it away even with closed eyes.
Eventually, the Slytherin team was reduced to a mere three players, all of whom were last-minute reserves who were as green as newly hatched chicks. They were so terrified of Happy that they limited themselves to one meter above the ground, keeping to the boundaries of the field so they could make a quick escape if needed.
Sadly for them, Happy had anything but mercy that day.
Happy smirked and looked at Oliver Woods, the Captain, and pulled out a big thumbs up and a smile. "Go and score as much as you can, Boss!"
Oliver gave him a big grin and a salute. He was confident they could break some sort of record with the turn of events. He gave his team a hand gesture, and they all flew off to their positions with excitement.
And so, the insanity continued. Gryffindor's team effortlessly scored goal after goal on the unguarded posts. That day, the match exposed the flaws in Quidditch, highlighting the dire need for more regulations and rules to prevent such one-sided matches in the future.
Eventually, Gryffindor racked up an astonishing seven hundred points, with only one player left in the opposing team—with a bloodied face, nonetheless.
But the game still ended with Harry catching the Golden Snitch. Although, this time, Happy was there to lend a hand, preventing Harry from tumbling off his broom to secure their victory.
Happy flew right beside Harry's broom, on which the boy-who-lived stood. Happy provided balance by letting Harry use his shoulder as a counterweight
As they hurtled through the air at breakneck speed, the Golden Snitch suddenly fell into Harry's outstretched left hand.
Ding ding ding!
And with that, Gryffindor emerged victorious, relying on a combination of brute force and fantastic luck.
But the night was far from over as the Gryffindor common room erupted into a boisterous celebration. Happy and Harry found themselves at the center of attention, reveling in the joyous atmosphere. For once, Happy couldn't help but notice that no one seemed afraid of him, and he felt a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before.
Students were laughing and chatting as they filled their plates with pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs, celebrating the Quidditch win with full stomachs and happy hearts.
"You two were incredible out there! That match was mental!" Ron came up and jumped on both of their backs.
But soon, while munching on his snack, Ron suddenly started to ponder, "You guys don't think those Slytherins would hold a grudge, do you?"
All three friends stopped snacking and looked at Ron.
"Hmm... I don't think so. It was a fair match, and no rules were broken. I read them." Hermione interjected.
Happy shoved a chocolate cookie into his mouth and mumbled with his mouth fool, "If it happens, it happens...let's cross that bridge when we get there. If they trouble us, I will become a beater in the next match as well."
Certainly, that was a very scary thought. That night, everyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team felt relieved that the Lestrange boy was on their team.
Slowly, time passed and bedtime steered close. But as they continued to celebrate, Happy remembered something. "What was happening to your broom, Harry? I couldn't say it back then, but I think you lost control over it."
"It was Snape!" Hermione blurted with a jolt, "I forgot to tell you. I saw him! I'm telling you now, Snape jinxed it. He hates Harry."
"Dislike, maybe... But why would he want to harm Harry?" Happy asked. "Nobody is evil for no reason. So, what could his reason be?"
"He was chanting some curse while looking at Harry. Isn't that reason enough to suspect him?" Hermione spoke feverishly.
Happy nonchalantly replied, "Did you hear the curse? Anyway, if you think it was Snape, who am I to judge? I just hope you don't act like Slytherin or those others who act prejudiced against me because of my last name. Don't they say, don't cover the judge by its book?"
"Pfft!" She chuckled. "You have a funny way with words, Happy"
As the night wore on and midnight came close, the party in Gryffindor's common room began to wind down. One by one, the students began to disperse, bidding their friends or girlfriends goodnight and heading off to their respective dormitories.
The room grew quieter until only a few love birds remained in some corner seats, exchanging quiet words. Though one particular first year sneakily grabbed the last of the snacks left before eventually calling it a night and heading off to bed.
However, the hope of sweet dreams was not always fulfilled for all of them.
Asleep, Happy suddenly found himself in a small, dark cell. It was suffocating, barely large enough to fit a person. The walls were made of rough, cold stone, with no windows or sources of light. The air was stale and musty, with a dampness that seeped into every pore.
He tried to move, but he felt pain in his arms and legs, as if nails were pierced through his flesh and into the walls, holding him captive. Like a slab of meat in a butcher's den, he was left hanging there on a wall.
He tried to free his hands and feet, but nothing moved. He couldn't control his own limbs. He couldn't even scream. None of his shouts came out, as if the world was telling him to accept his gruesome fate. A sense of constriction gripped him tightly, suffocating his breath and sending waves of panic through his body.
The metallic scent of blood lingered in his nostrils as he felt drops of crimson rolling down from incisions on his limbs. Happy's heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his throat, and his mind raced with a million thoughts simultaneously.
The only sounds in the cell were the faint echoes of drips from somewhere, like the ticking of an ominous clock counting down to an unknown fate.
His eyes looked down toward the source of the sound and noticed a cauldron collecting his blood drop by drop. His pale face stared back at himself through the crimson reflection, looking like it was screaming in agony with every ripple a drop of blood made.
Happy's eyes snapped open as he jolted awake from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing ragged. He sat up in bed, his body tense with fear as he tried to shake off the haunting images from his dream.
"What the hell was that?"
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