"Alright, team." Before stepping onto the pitch, Oliver Wood tried to rally the Gryffindor team. "We all know what we're up against."
"The best broomstick in existence," one of the twins muttered, rolling his eyes.
"And the best flyer in the school," the other added with a shrug.
"Shut up, Fred, George!" Wood shouted in frustration. "I said we all know what we're up against! Draco Malfoy? No, no, that little git is the least of our worries. We're up against his rich daddy, six Nimbus 2001s, and—Merlin knows what that thing is—but it's definitely faster than any Nimbus we've ever seen. And on top of that—"
"Eve Stock..." Harry murmured like he was speaking of a ghost.
A heavy silence fell over the Gryffindor locker room.
Especially among the three Chasers—Katie, Angelina, and Alicia—whose faces had turned deathly pale.
Because each of them had, at some point, been utterly humiliated by Eve Stock on the pitch.
And the memories were not pleasant.
It wasn't just a bad game—it was a nightmare.
Wood took a deep breath, then, in an almost defeated whisper, said, "Yeah... Eve Stock."
He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I'll be honest, guys. I have to admit Stock's flying skills are incredible. And her boyfriend? That brilliant little devil? He's given her the strongest weapon possible. Skill and technology combined—it seems unbeatable, doesn't it? Just like they say, 'The Unstoppable Silver Lightning.' But I don't believe that, guys."
He then turned to Harry.
"Listen, Harry. This is your battlefield. Slytherin has one weakness, and that's Malfoy. Their Seeker is terrible. Your job is to catch the Snitch before we all get annihilated by Stock. You either win—or die trying!"
Harry gulped, his face as pale as parchment. "Got it."
"So, no pressure, Harry," one of the twins said, clapping his shoulder. "Eve and Nolan are just like us—students, nothing more."
"We'll buy you as much time as we can," the other added. "I think getting destroyed by her once in a lifetime is already more than enough."
The Gryffindor team, now fully armed, marched onto the field with grim expressions—like they were heading into battle rather than a game.
And Slytherin? They were relaxed, confident.
Draco Malfoy even had enough free time to taunt Harry, smirking as he asked why he hadn't just flown in on the monster from the Chamber of Secrets.
Then—
The match began!
…
The commentator, as always, was Lee Jordan.
"Alright, alright! The first Quidditch match of the year is finally here! Our heroic Gryffindors don't seem too thrilled today—I wonder why? Could it be the Nimbus 2001s in Slytherin's hands? Or maybe... the smallest player on the team?"
"You know who I'm talking about—hello there, Eve Stock! That terrifying girl is back on the pitch!"
"Wait, why am I introducing a Slytherin? Don't be stupid, folks. I know we all hate Slytherin, but Stock is different. On the pitch, she doesn't represent any of that sneaky, underhanded nonsense—"
"JORDAN—!"
Professor McGonagall's furious voice rang across the field.
"Alright, alright, Professor! What I meant to say is that Stock represents something completely different on the pitch—something absolute, something dazzling, something completely incomprehensible—DOMINANCE!"
"And they're off! The 1992 Hogwarts Quidditch Cup begins with Gryffindor versus Slytherin! Madam Hooch releases the Quaffle—"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I can't even keep up with her speed! Eve Stock has the Quaffle!"
Honestly, Lee Jordan didn't even need to explain—every single first-year watching the match immediately understood the meaning behind her nickname: "Silver Lightning."
Not even a minute into the game, Eve had already broken past the three Gryffindor Chasers attempting to intercept her. With a Sloth Grip Roll, she dodged a Bludger that was sent hurtling straight at her. Then, like a silver blur, she streaked toward the Gryffindor goalposts.
Her silver hair whipped wildly behind her. Her usually cold face was lit up with an excited grin.
Electric sparks seemed to dance in her brilliant eyes.
"I'll stop you!" Wood bellowed, standing guard before the hoops.
Eve let go of her broom with one hand, clenched her fist, and—
Swung at Wood.
Reflexively, he flinched, shut his eyes, and jerked his broom upward in an attempt to dodge.
It happened in an instant.
0.5 seconds later—
Eve shot through the gap he had just left and slammed the Quaffle into the goalpost.
"Merry Christmas, Gryffindor!"
With those words, she streaked off—
A silver flash across the sky!
"TRANSYLVANIAN TACKLE—!"
Jordan's voice echoed wildly.
"Looks like our Silver Lightning has gotten a lot braver over the holidays! What an incredible opening move! I have to say, I'm genuinely worried for Gryffindor. Their captain, Oliver Wood, doesn't look too good after that one. I have no idea why he got scared of a tiny third-year girl's fist—perhaps the terror of Silver Lightning has been deeply ingrained into his very soul—AND ANGELINA HAS THE QUAFFLE! MOVE, GIRL! GET OUT OF THERE BEFORE THE DARK LORD ARRIVES!"
…
Meanwhile, in the stands—
"The Dark Lord?" Nolan's face darkened. "Jordan must have a death wish."
"Oh, I think the comparison is rather fitting!" Beside him, Mr. Beamon burst into laughter. "In the amateur Quidditch world, Miss Stock is basically a Dark Lord. With just a bit of professional training, she could join the England National Team anytime."
"A professional career, huh...?" Nolan frowned in thought. "And the Firebolt's performance?"
"As flawless as ever! Unbelievable speed, incredible stability, and acceleration that I've never seen before!"
…
On the field, Harry Potter was growing increasingly agitated.
"Damn it! Angelina lost the Quaffle again! Stock is even faster than last year—this is all Nolan's doing! If I had that broom, I could pull off the same kind of moves!"
Frustrated, Harry forced himself to focus on his job—scanning the field for the Snitch.
Unfortunately for him, Draco Malfoy was still doing what he did best—being an absolute pest.
"Nice job, Potter."
"What are you even looking for, Potter?"
"Are you trying to imitate a snail? You're barely moving, Potter!"
Godric's beard, I swear to Merlin, I'm going to rip his mouth off!
~~~----------------------
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