He remembered that during the Sorting Ceremony, Dumbledore had warned all the new students that the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor was off-limits and that anyone who went in would be facing death.
Now it seemed the reason that corridor was a forbidden area was because there was a powerful magical creature in there. Even for an adult wizard, that creature would be dangerous—let alone a bunch of schoolchildren.
Harry sharpened his senses and realised that besides that magical creature, there were some magical traps laid down as well.
What puzzled him was that these traps were very weak—their power wasn't even enough to kill a particularly capable first-year.
What shocked him even more was that, in the room at the far end of the fourth-floor corridor, a familiar magical aura was spilling out completely unrestrained. There was no attempt to hide it at all; it was just proudly radiating out into the castle.
This aura was identical to the magic coming from the little package Hagrid had once taken out. Clearly, what was stored in that room was exactly the item from that package.
It was like a shabby dancer in tattered skirts, swaying her hips behind a curtain, half-hidden and half-revealed, as if deliberately luring something dangerous to come closer.
Everything about it stank of a setup. Harry suspected Dumbledore was fishing, using this arrangement to hook a very particular kind of bait.
Did that mean there was a bad guy among them?
Harry immediately thought of Quirrell. He was strange, and the magic on him was vile—reeking of a necromancer's stench.
Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the age; the odds were high he'd noticed something off. Maybe he suspected Quirrell but had no proof, and wanted to use this as a way to force him to expose himself.
Harry felt he could make use of Dumbledore's little arrangement—perhaps to get rid of a very troublesome annoyance altogether.
...
The next day, the three-person squad met up in the Great Hall. After popping a bite of steak-and-kidney into his mouth, Harry noticed that today their little Miss Otter seemed oddly deflated.
He suddenly reached out and patted the little otter's head. Not sensing anything wrong, he asked in confusion, "What's wrong, Hermione? Not feeling well? You look exhausted."
Hermione's temperature might have been just fine a second earlier, but the moment Harry "ambushed" her like that, her face turned scarlet, like a ripe tomato. "N-no, I'm not sick, I just…"
Under Harry's encouraging gaze, Hermione finally admitted the problem she was facing.
"It's just… it feels like I'm being left out… Harry, why is this happening? I really do want to get along with them, to have a great school life together.
"But I don't know when it started. They're always whispering behind my back, talking in low voices, and the moment I walk over, they stop talking.
"They think I don't know, but I've heard them saying bad things about me. I didn't do anything wrong."
The little otter was miserably aggrieved, her eyes brimming with tears. Even her shoulders drooped; she looked utterly dispirited.
Harry thought for a moment and quickly guessed what was going on. He pretended to be puzzled and asked, "What do you usually talk to them about?"
Hermione considered it, then answered, "I help them solve their questions, urge them to study, and correct their bad behaviour, so they won't end up breaking school rules."
Harry: "…"
Just as he thought. Never mind those eleven- and twelve-year-old witches— even he wouldn't be able to stand another "mum" constantly lecturing him.
Harry thought for a bit, then chose his words carefully.
"Maybe you could try a different way of getting along with your roommates. They're our age. They've got their own thoughts. Everyone sees things in their own way.
"So you need to respect what they think. You can't insist they all become like you. Not everyone wants to be that dedicated—and not everyone can be. Not everyone is as exceptional as you."
"But I mean well. It really would be better for them…" Hermione muttered, still hurt.
Harry's tone sharpened.
"No, Hermione. Not everyone needs to be exceptional, and not everyone wants to be. Most people just want to live happily. Things that feel easy to you might be incredibly hard for someone else."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "I understand, Harry."
Seeing his words sink in, Harry smiled gently. "Maybe you could invite them to study with us. I think they'd probably love that."
Hermione wasn't thrilled by the idea, but she knew that inviting her roommates to study with Harry would definitely ease the tension.
After all, her roommates were fanatical Harry fans, and Hermione knew very well what an idol meant to young witches.
If she let them get close to Harry, then maybe she would become "Big Sis Hermione" to them in the future.
Rustle rustle—
The sound of wings filled the air as owls swept into the hall like every morning, delivering letters and packages with perfect accuracy to the students below.
Harry also received a letter and a parcel. He opened the letter first and read:
"Do not open the package on the table.
Inside is your new broomstick, a Nimbus Two Thousand. I don't want everyone to know you've got a new broom, or they'll all want one.
Oliver Wood is waiting for you at seven o'clock tonight on the Quidditch pitch to give you your first training session.
M. McGonagall."
Ron's sharp eyes caught sight of the letter. He sighed in pure envy. "A Nimbus Two Thousand… I've never even touched one."
Harry grinned wickedly. "Well, when we get back to the dormitory, I'll let you have a feel."
Ron swatted him.
Soon enough, seven o'clock rolled around. Harry left the castle and headed for the Quidditch pitch in the evening dusk.
Hundreds of seats were stacked high on the surrounding stands, and Wood was already waiting for him in the middle of the field.
Wood was a very responsible captain. He took out a large wooden crate, opened it, and began explaining the different balls used in Quidditch and the rules of the game.
Harry picked it all up quickly—or rather, he picked it up far too quickly, at a speed that far exceeded Wood's expectations.
When he watched Harry snatch the Golden Snitch out of the air in a matter of minutes yet again, Wood's face went numb. He began seriously questioning his own existence. With a player like Harry on the team, what were the rest of them supposed to do?
No matter how hard they worked, in front of Harry they were just background decoration.
But it didn't take long before his excitement came roaring back—because he knew that whatever the future brought, for the seven years Harry was at Hogwarts, the Quidditch Cup would belong to Gryffindor.
Life at Hogwarts passed very swiftly for Harry. After finishing his homework each day, he would head to the library to continue researching new spells.
Hermione started bringing her roommates along to study as well. To Harry's surprise, once they experienced how fun studying could be, they completely fell in love with it.
They'd been tagging along for a while now, and their grades were visibly improving.
And so, time flew by. Just as Harry was finally about to complete the last of the spell arrays for his railgun, Halloween was almost upon them.
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