Harry's Occlumency training continued.
Thanks to the Dream Charm, his attitude afterward was noticeably more cooperative.
Unfortunately, his dorm mates were far less pleased.
Almost every night, just as everyone was sleeping soundly, Harry would suddenly let out strange, inexplicable laughter—jerking the others awake in an instant.
Ron finally demanded an explanation.
"What kind of dream are you having that makes you jump around and laugh like that?"
Harry hesitated, mumbled something about being too tired, and claimed he'd forgotten everything when he woke up.
Which wasn't entirely a lie.
He was exhausted.
Classes during the day.
Occlumency practice at night.
And with the Quidditch season approaching, Oliver Wood had once again gone completely mad—raising training to four nights a week, two of them concentrated over the weekend.
The one small mercy was that, ever since they'd survived danger together, Hermione Granger had started letting Harry and Ron copy her homework.
Well—almost.
She still insisted they try writing it themselves, but every time the two of them played dumb, her short temper betrayed her and she blurted out the answers anyway.
It was only when they tried to copy her entire essay word for word that she finally exploded.
"Are you trolls? If a professor sees three identical essays, what do you think they'll say?!"
Harry and Ron could only slink off to the library, staring miserably at the four-foot parchment requirement.
They often ran into Vaughan there.
Among the first-years, he was practically legendary.
Admired—for killing the troll.
Envied—because he didn't have to do homework. He could read whatever he liked in class, and the professors never stopped him.
Harry was extremely envious of that.
He also noticed that Vaughan had been showing up less and less to Slytherin's Quidditch practices. When Harry mentioned this to Wood, the dark cloud over the captain's head finally lifted a little.
Wood slapped Harry hard on the shoulder.
"Keep it up, Harry! Saturday's the match—let's crush Slytherin!"
That's right.
Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.
This Saturday.
Time was strange like that.
Call it "mid-month," and it felt distant.
Say "this week," and the pressure slammed down all at once.
The day before the match, Harry grew more and more anxious sitting in his dormitory. Eventually, he dragged his friends out to the courtyard to clear his head.
It was freezing.
Hermione conjured flames inside jars to keep them warm, then hurried off to find Vaughan for study.
Harry and Ron stood in the cold wind, clutching their jars and staring blankly ahead.
Ron launched into his analysis.
"Honestly, Harry, I think you've got the advantage over Vaughan. All the famous Seekers are small and skinny—it makes them faster and more agile. Vaughan's taller and broader than you."
Then he added helpfully:
"Of course, that's why Seekers get smashed by Chasers and Beaters all the time. Last year, England's Seeker broke his arm—apparently the bone was—"
Harry sniffed loudly.
He immediately regretted letting Ron talk.
He'd seen the Slytherin team—every single one of them built like a brick wall.
All day long, he kept imagining himself being battered out of the sky and plummeting to the ground.
That night, when he asked Vaughan for a Dream Charm, he made a special request.
"Could you… make it a bit stronger?"
"Harry," Vaughan reminded him calmly, "the Dream Charm only affects what you dream. It doesn't help you sleep."
Harry didn't hear a word of it.
Despite being opponents the next day, it didn't affect their relationship at all. Harry trusted Vaughan completely now.
When they parted, he even said solemnly:
"Good luck tomorrow. Friendship first—competition second."
"You too," Vaughan replied with a smile.
Enemies and friends.
Rivals and allies.
It felt like a very adult sort of relationship, and Harry briefly believed he'd matured because of it.
Then—
He lay awake all night.
Because the truth was—
He really wanted to win.
He wanted, just once, to defeat Vaughan—the friend who seemed better than him at everything.
And it also proved, very definitively, that the Dream Charm had absolutely no sedative effect.
Harry stared at the ceiling until dawn.
Saturday arrived bright and bitterly cold—perfect Quidditch weather.
Harry's mood, however, was dreadful.
"Have something to eat," Hermione urged. "You look awful."
"I don't want to."
"At least one bite," she insisted. "You'll be flying soon!"
That only made things worse. Harry's face turned green, his stomach twisting as he stared at breakfast.
Around him, students buzzed with excitement. There was simply too much to talk about—Gryffindor versus Slytherin, their long rivalry, and the fact that both Seekers were already famous.
Everyone who passed offered encouragement.
The twins slipped Harry a chocolate biscuit. He couldn't face it, so when Ron arrived, Harry handed it over.
Ron nodded seriously.
"You need stamina, Harry. Seekers are always targeted—you've got to outlast them."
He took a bite.
"Mmm, that's good. Where'd you get it?"
"Fred and George gave it to me."
Ron's expression froze.
Two seconds later—
BANG.
Ron transformed into a gigantic yellow canary.
Chaos erupted. In the distance, Fred Weasley and George Weasley were hopping up and down with delight.
"Flawless work, Fred!"
"Absolutely, George—Canary Creams! Proudly brought to you by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!"
The enormous canary stared at them in disbelief, then began shedding feathers. When the last one fell, Ron reappeared, livid.
"You traitors! You gave Harry a prank biscuit—"
"No, no, little Ronnie," Fred said cheerfully. "We knew Harry wouldn't eat it."
"Exactly," George added. "He'd give it to you."
"Perfect execution."
High five.
Despite himself, Harry felt much better watching Ron get ambushed by his brothers.
Before heading out, he finally managed a bowl of pumpkin juice and a meat pie.
In the changing room, pulling on his red robes, Harry glanced back to see Ron hovering by the door, watching him with open envy.
It felt… strange.
"Uh—Ron, where's Hermione?"
"Off to see Vaughan," Ron huffed. "She's a traitor too."
Slytherin's changing room.
Their uniform was a dark green cloak trimmed with silver, embroidered with a silver serpent.
Vaughan didn't like the color.
But he had to admit—it looked sharp.
Hermione, clutching her books, clenched her fist encouragingly, eyes shining.
"Go get them, Vaughan!"
"Thanks, Hermione."
Vaughan ruffled her hair. She turned bright red and fled.
When he looked back, the rest of the team hurriedly averted their eyes, pretending they'd seen nothing.
"What are you all staring at?" Vaughan snapped.
"Get ready—we're going out."
"Yes!"
(End of Chapter)
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 70 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/FinalArcHero789