It was the weekend, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team was warming up on the pitch.
Their captain, Oliver Wood, had reserved the field for the entire day, which meant only one thing—they were in for an all-day training session.
"I really don't see the point of all this practice…" one of the Weasley twins grumbled. "Do we actually stand a chance against Eve Stock? I'm guessing no."
"Hey!" Oliver Wood snapped, outraged. "Cut the nonsense! Listen up, we're a great team!"
"We know!" the other twin chimed in.
"We've got the best Chasers!"
"A solid pair of Beaters!"
"And an unstoppable Seeker—Harry!"
"Right, right, Wood, you said all of this last term."
"Well…" Wood, the burly captain, let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, guys, I get it. I know Stock is tough. But that doesn't mean we just give up—that's not the Gryffindor way, is it?"
—
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, the three Gryffindor Chasers were busy fastening their wrist guards while whispering among themselves.
They were talking about last week's elective classes.
"Merlin's beard, Professor Babbling really said that?" Angelina Johnson, the dark-skinned Chaser, gasped. "She actually said Nolan doesn't even need the class?"
Alicia Spinnet nodded.
"She did. It seems she thinks Ancient Runes is too easy for him. At first, we all thought she was just bragging about her favorite student, but… well, it didn't take long for us to realize she wasn't exaggerating."
"Why?" Angelina asked, wide-eyed.
"Because while the rest of us were slaving away, trying to memorize all those ridiculously complicated symbols, Nolan just sat right next to the professor, casually discussing some ancient dialect that no one else could understand."
"You shouldn't have doubted Professor Babbling in the first place," Katie Bell pointed out. "If you actually read the Daily Prophet, you'd know Nolan's got serious expertise in Runes."
Angelina's jaw dropped.
"Oh! I read that article! He was interviewed about enchanting magical artifacts or something—but honestly, all I got from it was that the theory was insanely advanced."
"Same here." Katie let out a dry laugh. "But that doesn't change the fact that Nolan's a genius."
Alicia pouted.
"Everyone thinks so!"
Katie sighed wistfully.
"There are only ten students in Ancient Runes. I bet you all get plenty of opportunities to talk to Nolan…"
Then, in an exaggeratedly sweet and innocent voice, she cooed:
"Nolan, this part is so confusing… Could you teach me?"
Angelina joined in, mockingly fluttering her eyelashes.
"I just love the way you explain things! Why don't you come to my dorm later? I think we should have a private discussion about Runes—"
Alicia's face flushed bright red, and she shoved them both.
"Shut up!"
Just then, Wood's patience snapped.
"Where's Harry? Why isn't he here yet? George—"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'm Fred! Why does everyone—"
"Alright, fine, Fred. I thought you woke him up? Does he even know we're training this morning?"
"I'm pretty sure he does, because—"
Fred jerked his thumb toward the stands.
"—he's right there."
Finally, Gryffindor's Seeker had arrived.
With everyone present, Oliver Wood launched into yet another long-winded and painfully dull strategy meeting—one that, as usual, only he seemed excited about.
The Gryffindor team was bored out of their minds.
The Weasley twins had already dozed off, and Harry was nodding so hard that his glasses slipped off his nose.
"Alright, let's put our latest strategy into practice!"
Finally, Wood led the team out of the locker room. Truth be told, they had been stuck in there long enough.
Once they stepped onto the pitch, they noticed that the stands weren't empty.
Aside from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, there was another tag-along—a tiny first-year student, lugging around a huge Muggle camera.
The kid wouldn't stop talking, constantly firing questions at Ron and Hermione, all while snapping pictures like mad, his camera's flash going off repeatedly.
Wood scowled.
"Who is that? What, is he a Slytherin spy?"
One of the twins shrugged.
"Oh, come on, Wood. Slytherin doesn't need spies."
Wood shot him a sharp look.
"And how would you know that?"
"Because they're already here."
Sure enough, a line of Slytherin players—all clad in silver and green robes—was making its way onto the pitch.
The one leading them was as ugly as ever, his features twisted into something almost troll-like.
Wood's face darkened immediately.
"Marcus Flint!" he practically roared.
There was no one in Hogwarts Wood despised more than Marcus Flint. It wasn't just because the guy was an absolute eyesore—it was because he played Quidditch like a brute, utterly ignoring the rules whenever it suited him.
"This is Gryffindor's training session!" Wood fumed. "I booked the pitch! McGonagall gave me permission! You lot aren't allowed here!"
But Flint just smirked.
"Oh, come on, Wood," he drawled, rolling his shoulders lazily. "There's plenty of space. What's the big deal?"
By now, the entire Gryffindor team had gathered, waiting to see what excuse the Slytherins had come up with this time.
Slytherin's lineup hadn't changed much—it was still a squad of burly, broad-shouldered boys. Their Beater, Montague, had somehow grown even taller over the summer.
But one player stood out the most.
At the very back of the formation, arms crossed over her broom, stood a lone girl. She was completely unreadable, her icy expression giving away nothing.
She was clutching a sleek, silver broomstick—a Silver Arrow.
The Lightning Bolt of Slytherin—Eve Stock.
—
"I reserved the pitch!" Wood wasn't in the mood to be a gentleman today. He was furious. "I booked it first! From the very start!"
Flint burst into laughter.
"Ah, but I have Professor Snape's signature—" He pulled out a signed note, waving it around dramatically. "See? Slytherin needs the pitch too!"
"Why?!"
Gryffindor's players exchanged confused looks. There was no new face in Slytherin's lineup.
Then, suddenly, someone stepped out from behind Flint—a small, pale figure, grinning smugly.
Harry's stomach dropped.
"Draco Malfoy?!"
Draco smirked.
"That's right!" he said, looking delighted. "Bet you didn't see that coming, Potter! Being a Seeker isn't your exclusive privilege, you know! Want to wager on who's going to win this year? I'd bet on Slytherin, obviously! We've got the best team!"
Fred and George snickered.
"You lot? The best team?"
"You've only got decent Chasers, that's about it!"
Flint, however, simply grinned wider.
"Oh, you really think that?" he said slyly. "Then allow me to introduce our newest advantage."
At once, every single Slytherin player lifted their broomsticks, revealing a shiny, matching set.
Gryffindor stared.
A full lineup of brand-new Nimbus 2001s.
Draco beamed.
"The newest model," he said, practically glowing with pride. "Much faster than the Nimbus 2000!"
—
The Weasley twins immediately noticed something odd.
There was one exception—one broomstick that wasn't a Nimbus 2001.
Their eyes flicked toward the only player still holding an older model—Eve Stock, with her Silver Arrow.
One of them nudged the other.
"Oi, looks like your team didn't think you were worth the upgrade, huh, Stock?"
"Maybe the Silver Lightning isn't as welcome on the Slytherin team as we thought!"