Seeing the two young wizards getting along so well, Professor McGonagall nodded, thought for a moment, and said,
"I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can make an exception for a first-year. We need a Quidditch team that's better than last year's.
"We were thrashed by Slytherin in the last match. I didn't dare run into Snape for weeks…"
The look she turned on Harry was full of expectation, and her tone was firm as she said,
"Harry, your talent for flying is obvious to everyone. You're Gryffindor's hope. I'll buy you a Nimbus Two Thousand, and I hope you'll use it to defeat Slytherin!"
Harry nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, Professor. I won't let you down. I'll definitely beat Slytherin!"
At the same time, he thought to himself that with Professor McGonagall's opinion of him now, he should be able to ask her for a pass to the Restricted Section after the next class, right?
By dinner time, most of the students knew that Harry had been specially recruited onto the Quidditch team.
Ron was just about to stuff a piece of steak-and-kidney into his mouth when he froze halfway, staring at Harry with envy all over his face.
"Seeker? Merlin's pants, you must be the youngest House player in years!"
"A century," Hermione corrected him primly, pressed close against Harry's side, her face full of pride as if she were the one who had just received such an honor.
Many students were watching them, whispering to each other. There was no doubt at all about what they were talking about: the name of the Savior.
Ever since Harry had started school, he'd been a constant topic in private conversations—first as the Boy Who Lived, then as the youngest Potions master, and now as the youngest member of a House Quidditch team.
At the beginning, some of them had doubted whether Harry really deserved the title of Savior, but now? They didn't think that at all.
If Harry wasn't the Savior, then who was?
Just then, short-haired Miss Pansy came walking briskly over to Harry, her neat bob swaying slightly with every step.
She was just about to speak to him when she suddenly caught sight of Hermione practically glued to Harry's side. Her brows arched, and her temper flared in an instant.
From the very first time she saw Harry, she'd been captivated by his perfect looks and graceful manners, and had taken a liking to him.
Pansy had heard the stories about the Dark Lord: how he'd been elegant and powerful during his school days. But in her eyes, even he was far inferior to Harry.
She believed Harry was destined for greatness, and she wanted to follow him. If possible, she hoped to become his wife one day.
Now, seeing Hermione standing so close to "her" Savior, the jealousy in her heart exploded completely.
"Hermione, I challenge you to a duel!"
Pansy's sudden outburst stunned everyone nearby. But right now, Pansy didn't care what anyone thought. She leaned forward until their faces were almost touching and glared fiercely at Hermione, muttering under her breath,
"Midnight, in the Trophy Room. Only the winner has the right to stay by Harry's side!"
Harry was a bit speechless. What was this even supposed to be? These little witches were getting way too precocious.
He remembered the last time he'd been twelve… er, come to think of it, it had been like this back then too—girls dueling each other over him.
Harry felt helpless. He really was a terribly sinful man.
Just as he was about to stop them, something he never expected happened—Hermione actually agreed.
"Fine. I accept your challenge."
Hermione's rational mind told her she shouldn't; this was a blatant violation of school rules.
But once she heard what was at stake, she just couldn't hold back. She had to prove she was worthy of staying by Harry's side!
As for school rules… what were those again?
The brave Miss Otter suddenly discovered that the school rules weren't as unbreakable as she'd once thought!
After Hermione agreed, Pansy let out a cold snort, then snuck a glance at Harry. Seeing him looking her way, her cheeks flushed red and she scampered off, looking very pleased with herself.
Hermione, on the other hand, clenched her fists tightly, already planning to get back and prepare. She was absolutely going to cut Pansy down in their duel.
Suddenly, she noticed Harry looking at her with a strange expression and tensed up. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"
Harry shook his head, a gentle smile on his face, just like the Sorcerer Supreme when she praised him.
"No, you did great. You're a brave little witch."
Just as he'd said before, Hermione had a lot of potential. She should become her own sun!
Off to the side, Ron watched his two friends interacting and muttered under his breath,
"For a second there I thought Harry had Veela blood. I'm so jealous of his… disgustingly good luck with girls."
...
On Wednesday at Hogwarts, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows onto the ancient corridors. Students hurried past with books in their arms, robes whispering across the stone floor.
There were two classes that morning: Transfiguration and Charms.
After Transfiguration, Harry asked Professor McGonagall for permission to access the Restricted Section, using the excuse that he wanted to study more advanced Transfiguration.
In their previous lessons, his performance in Transfiguration had already reached upper-year level. In some cases of matter transfiguration, even McGonagall had been shocked.
So she didn't hesitate to hand him a handwritten approval note. As she did, she reminded him before he left,
"Harry, the Quidditch season is starting soon. If you can, try to spend a bit more time on Quidditch. Transfiguration can always be studied later."
When he heard that, Harry covered his mouth and chuckled. He'd never expected the Transfiguration professor herself to tell him to spend less time on Transfiguration so he could focus on Quidditch.
It showed just how much McGonagall loved Quidditch—and how thoroughly she'd been traumatised by losing!
In the Charms lesson that followed, Harry also did exceptionally well, flawlessly casting all sorts of spells. In the end, Professor Flitwick decisively invited Harry to join the Charms Club.
The Charms Club was similar to the Transfiguration Club. Its goal was to teach students practical magical techniques and allow them to practise various applications of magic in a safe environment.
Since its meeting times didn't clash with those of the Transfiguration Club, Harry naturally agreed.
In the afternoon, he pushed open the door to Defence Against the Dark Arts, found a secluded seat, and sat down. Then he shifted most of his attention back to working out the arrays for the railgun.
Quirrell didn't just have "issues"—he was very likely a dark wizard, and his teaching ability was abysmal.
He almost never did more than read straight from the textbook; beyond what was printed on those pages, he knew practically nothing. The only noteworthy thing about him was that overpowering reek of garlic.
Harry decided he was going to stop listening to Defence Against the Dark Arts entirely and devote that time to researching new magic.
But Quirrell was the useless type who still made trouble, and he clearly didn't appreciate being ignored by Harry.
Just as Harry was getting into the groove of his array calculations, a shout cut across his thoughts.
"Potter, answer me! Did you hear the question I just asked?"
Setting his quill down, Harry looked up toward the front.
Some people were just begging for death—and still insisted on having someone give them a push.
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