The morning of the first Quidditch match dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Daphne, rubbing Johnny's back..

"I'm not hungry."

Johnny felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

"Johnny, you need your strength," said Theo. Johnny sighed and looked up at his friends, who all looked concerned about his lack of appetite. He knew they were right, but the nerves and anticipation for the upcoming Quidditch match had taken a toll on his appetite.

"I know, guys," Johnny replied, his voice filled with anxiety. "But I can't seem to eat anything. My stomach is in knots."

Pansy rested her head on his arm and Daphne gently rubbed his back, trying to offer some comfort. "You'll feel even worse if you don't eat, Johnny. Just a little bit of toast, okay? It'll give you some energy."

Blaise chimed in, nodding in agreement. "She's right, mate. You need your strength out on the field. You've trained hard for this match."

Johnny looked at his friends, their concern evident in their eyes. He knew they were only looking out for him and wanted him to perform at his best. Taking a deep breath, he finally relented.

"Okay, I'll try," Johnny conceded, mustering a small smile. "But just a little bit of toast, alright?"

Pansy beamed and squeezed his shoulder. "That's the spirit, Johnny! We'll be cheering you on from the stands."

The group made their way to the breakfast table, where Johnny reluctantly picked up a piece of toast. He took a small bite, chewing slowly as he tried to calm his nerves. Surprisingly, the taste wasn't as bad as he had expected, and he found himself taking another bite.

As he ate, the familiar buzz of excitement in the Great Hall enveloped him. The delicious aroma of fried sausages and the lively chatter of his fellow students filled the air.

With each bite of toast, Johnny began to regain some of his lost appetite. The knot in his stomach gradually loosened, replaced by a growing determination to give his all on the Quidditch field.

"Thanks, guys," Johnny said gratefully, looking at at them all. "I needed that push. I feel better now."

Daphne smiled warmly at him. "You're welcome, Johnny. We're here for you, always."

Theo nodded, his eyes filled with confidence. "You've got this, mate. We believe in you."

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Flint cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Elizabeth and Rose Royce.

"And women," Flint agreed. "This game is all about how bad you want it, it's about grit. It's about HEART. The difference between winning and losing is how far you're willing to go! Your HUNGER will be tested on the field! Your DESIRE to win, will determine the outcome of the game! We keep on fighting even if the odds are stacked against us! They don't know that we have the heart, the courage and the will to make things happen! We will destroy everything that comes in our way, BECAUSE WE WERE BORN TO WIN, WE WERE BORN TO DOMINATE! We might be the underdogs, we might be the "weaker" team. But one thing is for sure: When we step on the field we FIGHT. We fight for ourselves and WE FIGHT for each other! YOU WILL NEVER PLAY THIS EXACT GAME AGAIN IN YOUR LIFE!! YOU WILL NEVER HAVE THE SAME OPPORTUNITY TODAY IN YOUR LIFE! WE ARE A FAMILY! AND WE WILL WIN!"

The snakes all roared in agreement, grabbing their respective brooms as they marched out of the changing rooms.

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Johnny followed Rose and Xander Royce out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Johnny noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to his Slytherin team mates. Out of the corner of Johnny's eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His jaw clenched.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Johnny clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand, smirking slightly at Harry who had a nervous look on his face.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too--"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve -- back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying like an eagle up there -- he's going to sc -- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Scaletta, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Johnny Scaletta speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she's really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead -- come on, now, Angelina -- Keeper Dax dives -- misses -- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Scaletta ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Montague dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Elizabeth had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -- all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Elizabeth -- he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead -- he put on an extra spurt of speed --

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below -- Johnny had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Do anything for the win," Johnny smirked, repeating Flint's exact words.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Johnny and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Up in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't football, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Scaletta coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating--"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul..."

"Jordan, I'm warning you--"

"All right, all right. Scaletta nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Harry's broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, Johnny thought he was going to fall.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession -- Scaletta with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet -- passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor -- Scaletta scores -- A no..."

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Scaletta blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape -- look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys plus Johnny flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realise that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row -- Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

The Slytherins, including Johnny, were seething with anger and frustration as they witnessed the outcome of the match. They couldn't believe what they had just witnessed and felt that Harry had cheated his way to victory.

"Are you kidding me?!" Johnny exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief. "He practically swallowed the Snitch instead of catching it! That's not fair!"

The Slytherins, united in their outrage, stormed towards Madam Hooch, determined to voice their complaints. They felt that Harry's actions went against the rules and integrity of the game.

"Madam Hooch, this is an outrage!" one Slytherin player exclaimed, his face red with anger. "Potter cheated! He didn't catch the Snitch, he practically devoured it!"

The rest of the Slytherin team chimed in, expressing their frustration and demanding justice. They argued that Marcus Flint's goals should have counted, as Harry's broom had disrupted the flow of the game.

Madam Hooch listened to their complaints, her expression stern. She understood their anger, but she also knew that the outcome of the match had already been declared. However, she assured them that she would investigate their concerns and take appropriate action if necessary.