Madam Hooch was a professional and strict teacher. She arrived at the training ground in front of the castle earlier than any of the young wizards.
A light breeze blew across the wide stretch of grass, and sunlight poured down over the lawns before the castle. Once all the students had arrived, she had them line up in two neat rows.
"Everyone," her voice was clear and forceful, her sharp gaze carrying a hint of expectation, "in the last two lessons we went over the safety rules for flying, and all of you have managed to call your brooms into your hands. So today is the day you all get to show what you can do.
"Mount your brooms. Just like I demonstrated— use your toes to push lightly off the ground, think 'up' in your mind. Don't be afraid, be bold and give it a try!
"Remember, relax your body and establish a feel for the broom. If anything at all goes wrong, call out immediately— I'll catch you with a Levitation Charm!"
At Madam Hooch's signal, the students were itching to try. Most of the Slytherin first-years quickly managed to take off, and their flight was quite steady.
Most of the Slytherin children came from pure-blood wizarding families with money to spare. They had been practicing on broomsticks under their parents' supervision since they were little; the very best among them had even been coached by professional Quidditch players.
Students from the other Houses also began to rise one after another. The ones still stuck on the ground were either Muggle-borns, or timid, less-talented pure-blood and half-blood kids.
Poor little Ron Weasley was one of them. He was clutching the broom handle so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
Watching his classmates taking off one after another, he only dared to prod at the ground very gingerly with his toes. The broom rose just a few centimeters before he panicked and dropped straight back down.
He really didn't have a knack for flying, and he was afraid of it to boot. Even Hermione was doing better than he was— she was already wobbling along in a more-or-less proper low-altitude flight.
Harry noticed Ron's situation, descended from the sky, and encouraged him:
"Ron, don't worry and don't be scared. Even if you do fall, Madam Hooch will catch you with a Levitation Charm right away. She won't let you get hurt."
Ron gave a bitter little smile. "Easy for you to say. There really were students who died in accidents during flying lessons before. Just thinking about that scares me half to death."
At that moment, a Slytherin girl flew over. Harry remembered her name: Pansy Parkinson. She was actually quite cute, but her personality was very mean. Just like Malfoy, she leaned on her status as a pure-blood witch and was full of prejudice and contempt toward anyone of "lesser" blood.
Now she suddenly broke away from Malfoy's side and flew over to the space in front of Ron. Tilting her chin up, she sneered, "Well, well, who do we have here? Isn't this that redheaded Weasley who can't even handle a broom?"
As she spoke, she deliberately exaggerated her movements, mimicking Ron's terrified wobbling when he tried to fly. The Slytherins nearby burst into laughter.
Behind Pansy, Draco Malfoy watched her mock Ron right in front of Harry. He wanted to say something, but perhaps time had stripped away a fair bit of his old terror of Harry. After a moment's hesitation, he ended up saying nothing at all.
After all, he knew it had been a misunderstanding back then. Harry couldn't have really meant to kill him.
But this "Savior" was still strange. How had he mastered such powerful magic before even starting at Hogwarts?
Thinking of that magical sword blazing with golden light, Malfoy shivered involuntarily.
He forced the fear down, flew over to Pansy's side. The honor of a pure-blood family would not allow him to show cowardice.
He wanted a match against Harry— to use victory to erase the shadow in his heart.
Ron's face turned scarlet in an instant, like a ripe tomato. He glared at Pansy, furious and humiliated.
"What do you know, Parkinson! You're just a show-off who struts around on your family name! If you're so great, stop flapping your mouth and meet me properly on the Quidditch pitch!"
That was exactly what Pansy had been waiting for. "Sure, let's go. Whoever chickens out is a little puppy. Just don't run away at the last minute. A coward like you can't even fly properly and still dares to talk about a match— it's hilarious!"
Ron was completely enraged. In his fury, he actually forgot to be afraid and wobbled his way into the air. "We'll go right now!"
But Pansy didn't pay him any attention. Instead, she looked eagerly at Harry. The moment she saw how almost-perfectly handsome his face was up close, her pretty little face flushed pink, but she still lifted her chin and said in a proud tone, "Harry Potter, are you coming too? Or are you scared as well?"
Harry's expression turned a little odd. He didn't sense any malice from Pansy— on the contrary, what he felt from her was the same shy admiration that most young witches had for him.
What was this, exactly? A tsundere little witch?
Women, using this kind of stunt to get my attention… Fine, I admit you've succeeded.
He hadn't expected that right when he'd been planning to show off his Quidditch talent, someone would "bring him a pillow just as he was feeling sleepy"— the perfect opportunity delivered to his doorstep. That made him look at Pansy's slightly mean but pretty face with a bit more fondness.
He agreed without hesitation. "Of course I'm in."
Seeing Harry accept, Malfoy's eyes flashed with excitement. He steeled himself and said through gritted teeth:
"In that case, let's have a proper Quidditch match! Slytherin will field seven players for a full team, and Gryffindor will do the same. And on top of that, we'll ask Madam Hooch to referee this game!"
"Fine by me!"
Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was one of Hogwarts' twelve Board of Governors, and since this was just a "friendly" game between students and the risks were well under control, Madam Hooch agreed to Draco's request.
But to make absolutely sure everyone stayed safe, Madam Hooch also invited Professor McGonagall, who happened to be free at the moment, to serve as an additional referee.
The commotion even drew the attention of Dumbledore, who had been strolling around the grounds; to everyone's surprise, he came over to watch as well.
That settled it— with these two masters of magic present, even if some kid tried to get themselves killed, it wouldn't actually happen.
Soon, the Gryffindor and Slytherin students gathered on the Quidditch pitch and each House picked seven players.
Slytherin's seven were Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Draco's two ever-present cronies, and two other pure-blood boys.
Gryffindor's team was made up of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and several other pure-blood students.
Almost everyone on the pitch was from a pure-blood family. It couldn't be helped— they had been riding brooms since they were small, and their flying skills were far better than those of the Muggle-born children.
Madam Hooch stood high up on the referee's stand. After introducing the two teams and making sure everyone's gear was in order, she released the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch all at once.
The two teams of young wizards kicked off together and shot toward their respective targets.
It was immediately obvious that the more well-off Slytherin kids had much better technique than the Gryffindors.
On the Gryffindor side, only Harry managed, through telekinesis and sheer natural talent, to edge out Draco Malfoy as a fellow Chaser. All the other positions were being crushed by the Slytherin players.
Seeing this, Dumbledore's face broke into a childlike smile. He turned to Professor McGonagall beside him and asked,
"Minerva, which House do you think will win this match?"
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