Because of Malfoy's troubles, even the air on the grassy training grounds began to feel anxious, thick with the static of impending conflict.
It wasn't enough to simply become a beauty in a rage like Hermione might; for Harry, it was visceral. As a partner and defender of justice, Harry really couldn't help but watch Malfoy be so arrogant and domineering. The injustice of it clawed at his throat.
"It's all right," Harry said to Ron, his voice low but firm.
Ignoring Hermione's silence and Ron's warning grip on his arm, Harry mounted his broom. He kicked off from the ground, hard.
Whoosh.
He flew crookedly at first, the broomstick vibrating with raw magical energy, but it was completely different from Neville's chaotic ascent. This was Harry's own strong will forcing the magic to obey, whereas Neville couldn't control his own broomstick at all.
Within seconds, the wobbling ceased. Harry's natural instincts took over. The wind rushed past his ears, ruffling his messy black hair. When Harry's broomstick leveled out with Malfoy's, it was obvious that Harry had perfect control of the broomstick under his hip. It felt like an extension of his own body.
"Malfoy, bring it!" Harry shouted over the wind.
Draco Malfoy hovered higher, holding the glass Remembrall up to the sunlight. He smiled like a god of war with his mouth crooked—a smirk of pure, unadulterated arrogance. His handsome gray eyes were full of contempt, as if among the entire first-year freshmen class, only Harry Potter in front of him could catch his eyes.
Even if this Harry was always against him.
"Want it, right?" Malfoy taunted, leaning casually on his handle. "Come with me."
Originally, Malfoy just wanted to hide Neville's memory ball as a prank, tossing it into a tree so that Neville could not find it. It was simple bullying—three times mocking the weak Neville in one afternoon.
Bad students are usually like this; they punch down.
But this Harry dared to insult him. It was courting death.
Malfoy glanced down. Among the students below, there were righteous whispers starting to rise, students shouting for Harry.
In fact, not all students are born bad guys. But without a leader of justice like Harry, they remain silent. As long as there is one person who is willing to stand up bravely and resist Malfoy's arrogance and evil, then naturally, the children full of justice in their hearts will rise up and cheer.
Harry, of course, was also encouraged by the distant cheers. It convinced him that he was doing the right thing.
He didn't mean to target Malfoy specifically. He, Harry, didn't want to target anyone. He was just complaining against the unfairness of the world.
At this time, even if it wasn't Malfoy but another bad student who wanted to tease and bully the injured Neville, Harry would have stood up.
As for why Harry is so full of justice, it doesn't just come from Harry's bones, but from his blood. And perhaps, from his scars.
The most important thing is that Harry has been dependent on others since he was a child. He had been bullied by his aunt's family since he was a toddler.
Harry, who is only eleven years old, has to cook at his aunt's house like a servant. He can only sleep in the dusty, spider-filled cupboard under the stairs. He is bullied daily by the same arrogant and domineering type of person—his cousin Dudley.
Growing up, Harry had had enough.
So he finally came to Hogwarts. Now he can learn magic, and he knows that his name, 'Harry Potter,' is a great hero to these people. Seeing Neville being bullied and humiliated by Malfoy triggered something deep inside him. Harry's blood boiled stronger than any student's empathy.
What is a leading man?
If Harry grew up to become someone like his cousin or Malfoy—people he hated the most—then such a person was naturally not worthy of being the hero in this wizarding world.
But Harry is not. He is the lotus that came out of the mud but is not stained. He is clean and not demonic. He has his own noble character, even if he has to take risks and pay a price for it.
Harry must be worthy of his thunderous name. Who told him to be——Harry Potter!
High in the air, the wind whipped at their robes.
Compared with other obedient students, Malfoy looked like a badass devil with invisible horns on his head and fangs protruding from his mouth at this moment.
Obviously, Mrs. Hooch forbade students to fly without permission. He did it on purpose. Seeing that Harry was a born excellent pilot, Malfoy was even more jealous.
Malfoy sat on his broomstick and flew to a higher position, taunting Harry to follow.
Generally, timid children at this moment would freeze. Just the fear of heights would make people sweat coldly. Their hearts would contract, their whole bodies would tremble, and finally, their bodies would go out of control. The broomstick would slip from their grasp, and they would fall directly from midair.
If you're lucky, you might be able to save your life. If you're unlucky, it might end up in a box—though who knows if Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would present a beautiful urn for the remains.
"Harry!" Malfoy yelled, his voice snatched by the breeze. "Don't you want to stand up for Neville?"
Malfoy spun the glass ball in his fingers.
"Go get it!"
Malfoy smiled devilishly. With a violent swing of his arm, he threw the memory ball.
It soared through the air in a high arc, heading straight toward the castle—specifically, toward a window on the third floor.
When it was lost, Malfoy didn't actually know that it was Professor McGonagall's office glass. But he knew that this was where the professors worked. If Harry was brave and reckless and bumped into it, not only would Harry be injured, but at the same time, there would be extremely beautiful, disastrous consequences. Expulsion was almost guaranteed.
However, just when Malfoy thought he had succeeded in his treacherous tricks and was about to "eat melons" (sit back and watch the show), a scene appeared that Malfoy could never have expected.
Harry seemed to be hanging out at the moment, hovering idly.
Then, he leaned forward.
Zoom!
The broomstick under his buttocks immediately started to accelerate. It was like a rocket engaging its thrusters, moving several times faster than Malfoy's speed. Harry rushed directly toward the castle wall.
The wind screamed in his ears. The stone wall was rushing up to meet him.
At the moment when the memory ball was about to smash through Professor McGonagall's window, Harry stretched out his hand.
Snap.
He grabbed the memory ball inches from the glass.
At the same time, Harry held the broomstick tightly with the other hand. He pulled up hard, putting his entire weight into the turn. He controlled it gracefully and smoothly, making a sharp, impossible turn in mid-air. His feet brushed the ivy on the wall as he stopped steadily less than half a meter in front of the window.
So far, Harry's hair has not been messed up. He hovered there, the ball safe in his hand.
"Hateful!"
Malfoy watched from above, his jaw dropping.
Let him pretend to be! (Show off!)
Malfoy was furious. His liver was sore with anger. The rift between him and Harry was completely settled now.
What Harry didn't know was that he wasn't seeing what was behind the glass because of the sun's reflection.
Inside the office, the air smelled of parchment and ink.
With a serious face, although her body was thin and she was quite old, she was very energetic. Professor McGonagall, with a solemn expression, was sitting at her desk. Behind her special square glasses, her eyes went wide as she looked out the window in surprise.
Professor McGonagall had a panoramic view of the scene where Harry caught the Memory Ball gracefully and smoothly just now.
So handsome—
It has been a long time since Professor McGonagall has seen a freshman who can control the broomstick so skillfully among the freshmen.
You know, flying broomsticks requires talent. Ordinary students, even if they work hard, may not be able to achieve the effect of Harry's sudden burst of skill just now.
Professor McGonagall is not only the Dean of Gryffindor and the Vice-Principal of the school, but also a closet Quidditch fanatic.
Both Harry and Malfoy had violated Mrs. Hooch's rules just now, but Professor McGonagall didn't care about that in this instant.
Of course, she knew Harry Potter. Before the opening ceremony, she saw Harry Potter among the many students at a glance.
Wizards who haven't experienced Voldemort's dark age will not know how terrible Voldemort is. Just this name alone makes many wizards avoid talking about it. This stems from inner fear, which is the most terrifying nightmare.
And it was such an invincible big devil who was seriously injured because of Harry Potter in the end. So Harry Potter is destined to be the most special student in Hogwarts.
Professor McGonagall immediately put down the work in hand. Her quill scratched against the desk as she stood up abruptly.
She walked quickly out of her office, her emerald robes rustling, heading straight to the first floor.
She stopped at the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The smell of garlic and stale air wafted out.
Professor McGonagall came in a hurry, full of excitement. As soon as she appeared at the door of Professor Quirrell's classroom, the senior magic students inside immediately looked over, surprised by the interruption.
"Sorry, Professor Quirrell, excuse me for a moment," she said, scanning the room. "I can call Oliver Wood? I have some important things to find him."
After all, Professor McGonagall is the Vice-Principal. She interrupted Professor Quirrell's class, but her words were neither humble nor overbearing, and her posture was commanding.
On the contrary, Professor Quirrell, with his large purple turban, seemed very careful. He smiled apologetically and stammered, "W-well, of course... there is no p-problem..."
Just like that, a burly boy stood up. Oliver Wood walked out of the classroom curiously, dusting off his robes.
Unlike a kid like Harry Potter or Malfoy, Oliver Wood is already a very tall and strong guy. As the Captain and Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood was not much shorter than Professor McGonagall at this time.
You must know that Professor McGonagall is already considered very high among the many professors at Hogwarts.
Oliver Wood was tall and handsome, with sunshine in his eyes and a look of confused anticipation. He looked curiously at Professor McGonagall, the Dean of Gryffindor, in the deserted corridor.
"Professor?"
Professor McGonagall looked at him, her eyes shining behind her spectacles.
"Wood, I would like to solemnly introduce you to a young Seeker!"
Professor McGonagall spoke with irrepressible excitement.
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