"Oooh, GOOOOAL!" Lee Jordan shouted, his voice echoing across the stands. "What a shot! At first, I thought the Quaffle was going to be blocked by the Keeper, but just before it reached him, the ball swerved and went straight through the right hoop!"
Albert flew back toward his team's half of the pitch, his face calm but focused.
"Brilliant, Albert! Ha ha ha!" George Weasley cheered. "Keep this up and we'll crush them!"
Gryffindor's cheers roared into the cold sky, mingling with the furious boos and curses from the Slytherin stands.
Several minutes passed, and Harry was still darting back and forth through the air, eyes scanning for the Golden Snitch. But he hadn't spotted it yet.
"Looks like Slytherin's got possession," Lee Jordan continued. "Chaser Bletchley ducks a Bludger, nice move, he dodges both the Weasley twins and Chaser Bell, and he's heading straight—wait—hang on—IS THAT THE SNITCH?!"
(For clarity: The Snitch is the tiny, golden, winged ball that the Seeker must catch to end the game.)
Adrian Bletchley turned his head just in time to glimpse a golden glimmer zipping past his left ear. He missed the Quaffle entirely as a wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Harry had seen it too. He dove instantly, chasing the golden streak of light, with Slytherin's Seeker, Terence Higgs, hot on his tail.
Both Seekers raced side by side, neck and neck. It seemed the rest of the players had forgotten their roles entirely, hovering mid-air to watch the chase unfold.
Harry was slightly ahead—his fingers inching toward the Snitch.
Slytherin Chaser Marcus Flint veered toward Harry, clearly intending to knock him off-course and prevent the catch, but—
BANG!
A thunderous uproar erupted from the Slytherin supporters. Albert Black had smashed into Marcus Flint with full force, deliberately throwing him off balance. Marcus spiraled away, stunned.
Harry glanced back mid-flight, just in time to see Albert nod at him.
"Albert! Thanks!" Harry called out breathlessly.
Albert didn't respond—just gave a firm thumbs-up and flew on.
The match continued, with Gryffindor now holding the advantage. The Quaffle stayed firmly in their control.
Then, without warning, Harry began spinning wildly in the air, completely out of control. Albert, who had been observing him closely, noticed the change immediately.
He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes. Harry's expression had shifted—strained and tense. His broom had clearly been tampered with.
Hermione, watching from the stands, noticed it too. She lifted her telescope with a serious expression and scanned the crowd.
Meanwhile, Harry was slowly drifting away from the pitch, twisting uncontrollably. Students began to murmur.
"What's going on? Did the broom break?" Hermione said nervously.
"No… a Nimbus shouldn't break like that, not even after some rough collisions," Ron muttered. "It's probably black magic—someone's interfering with it. And whoever it is… they must be really good."
"Definitely not just any student," Hermione replied.
"Look!" she gasped, grabbing Ron's arm. "Look at Snape—he's staring at Harry and muttering a spell!"
Ron raised the telescope. "Behind him—Quirrell! He's chanting too, staring straight at the sky."
"What?!" Hermione turned quickly, locking eyes on Quirrell. "What do we do?"
"I—I don't know… You decide!"
Hermione spun back toward the pitch—Harry was somehow steady again, back in control, flying normally.
But when she looked at the stands, both Quirrell and Snape were still muttering incantations.
"Wait, what?!" she exclaimed. "Why is Quirrell still chanting, but Harry's broom is back to normal?"
Two minutes earlier…
Before Hermione even figured out what was happening, Albert had already realized that Quirrell was using dark magic to curse Harry's broom. Without hesitation, Albert had acted.
He whispered a rare spell—a secret spell passed down through generations of the Black family. Surgeto. A cancellation spell powerful enough to nullify any active magic on an object.
Albert had learned it from his father as a child.
He raised his finger and uttered the word, "Surgeto."
At that moment, Harry was spinning violently and dangerously close to falling off his broom. But in a flash, a red aura wrapped around him—and the spinning stopped.
Back to the present...
Ten seconds later, chaos still reigned in the faculty booth. Quirrell and Snape quickly sat back down, pretending nothing had happened.
The match continued. Albert went on to break a historic record—he became the first Chaser in Hogwarts history to score 14 goals in a single match, racking up 140 points.
Two minutes after Harry's broom returned to normal, he caught the Snitch. The game ended.
Gryffindor had won, with an astonishing lead: 290 to 60.
On the field below, Harry and Albert embraced, grinning from ear to ear. It was clear—without the two of them, Gryffindor would never have beaten Slytherin.
Snape, watching from the stands, scowled as he saw Harry and Albert celebrating.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Is history repeating itself?"
To him, Harry looked exactly like James Potter—and Albert, like Sirius Black. Best friends. Inseparable.
Later, as Ron and Hermione were heading back to the castle, they crossed paths with Harry and Albert, who were on their way to visit Hagrid for tea.
The four of them walked together toward the familiar wooden hut.
Within minutes, they were all seated by the warm fireplace, sipping aromatic black tea from heavy mugs.
"It was Snape. I saw him," Ron said. "He was muttering something while staring at Harry's broom. I swear it."
"No, Ron, be honest," Hermione cut in. "We both saw Quirrell behind Snape doing the same thing."
Albert spoke for the first time. "You're both right. Quirrell began the curse—and Snape tried to stop him. He was casting a counter-spell to protect Harry."
The room fell silent.
"What? No way!" Harry exclaimed. "There's no way Professor Snape tried to save me! You must be mistaken, Albert!"
Albert sighed. "Harry, never judge a book by its cover. If Snape wanted to hurt you, he could've done it before the match. But he didn't. He came to the game because he knew something might happen to you."
The others stared at him, unsure what to say.
"But wait!" Hermione suddenly said. "If Snape and Quirrell were both chanting, then why did the curse stop so suddenly?"
Ah… She figured it out.
Albert took a deep breath. "Fine. I didn't want to tell anyone this, but—I was the one who stopped Quirrell's curse on Harry."
Everyone froze—even Hagrid.
Ron laughed nervously. "Are you serious? What, did you hit your head or something, Albert?"
Hermione added, "Yeah… How could you stop Quirrell's spell? You didn't even have your wand. You were playing the match!"
Albert sighed again. "I didn't want anyone to know. My father warned me that it could be dangerous if people found out."
Flashback
Sirius Black had been stunned when he first saw his son use magic without a wand.
"Promise me, Albert," he said, voice serious. "Promise you'll never tell anyone about this."
"But why?"
"Because it's your hidden card. If an enemy ever disarms you, they'll think you're helpless. But you won't be. And worse—dark wizards will come after you, wanting to experiment on you."
"...Alright, I promise."
Back to the present
Albert pointed at the teacup.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
A brilliant light shot from his finger—and the teacup floated up into the air.
Everyone in the room gasped, eyes wide in disbelief.
Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth. "Albert… what are you?"
Harry stared. "You really can use magic… without a wand?"
Albert nodded. "Please, don't tell anyone. Promise me."
All of them answered at once, "We promise."
Ron still looked stunned. "I can't believe it… I mean, someone who can use wandless magic—it's not even in the legend books."
Harry grinned. "Then I guess… we've just met a legend."
Hermione, however, couldn't shake a sense of unease. She knew that once the world
discovered Albert's gift… they'd no longer see him as human—but as something else entirely.
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