Hodge's gaze pierced through the dormitory curtains, watching the silvery Thestral prance overhead.
The Patronus form of the Thestral was nothing like its real-world counterpart—it had an eerie, almost enchanting beauty. Its massive, bat-like black wings unfurled gently, gliding through the air without a sound, leaving a trail of dreamlike, silvery-white mist in its wake. Its translucent body softened the skeletal, gaunt frame, giving it a delicate, agile, and spirited appearance. The pupil-less white eyes struck just the right balance, exuding an ethereal and mysterious aura.
"What, am I dreaming?" Terry mumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
A moment later, he was wide awake, bombarding Hodge with questions. "That's a Patronus! A Patronus! You know what Professor Flitwick said in class? It's way beyond the skill of an ordinary wizard!"
Anthony and Michael stirred awake soon after, marveling at the news.
Unable to resist Terry's pleading, Hodge cast the spell again. The four of them watched in awe as the silvery wings soared above the dormitory. Only when the glowing Patronus dissolved into mist did their enchanted expressions fade. Anthony spent a good while earnestly discussing the intricacies of the Patronus Charm with Hodge. Afterward, Hodge changed into his Quidditch gear and headed to the pitch with Michael Corner to watch the team tryouts.
On the way, Michael filled him in on the drama from the previous day's practice.
"Gryffindor and Slytherin players nearly came to blows. Apparently, Wood was leading his team in training when Slytherin swooped in to steal the pitch. It's bad news. I heard Draco Malfoy's dad shelled out for seven brand-new Nimbus 2001 brooms just to get him on the team. Talk about a waste."
Clearly, the Ravenclaw team captain had heard the same news.
When they arrived, he was rallying the official players.
"No big deal!" he declared. "On the pitch, it's skill that matters. We've got the best lineup, and our tactics are in line with the top clubs in the country—like the Tutshill Tornados, the Chudley Cannons, and the Holyhead Harpies. They're our benchmarks!"
"I think we need a new template," Michael muttered under his breath. "The Tornados and Cannons are solid, but the Holyhead Harpies…"
"What's wrong with them?" Hodge asked.
"Oh," Michael said, pausing to think. "The Harpies are… unique. They've got a legendary reputation. An all-female team, incredibly skilled, but they're lighter, so they rely heavily on technique. They've developed a whole set of speed-based tactics that work like a charm."
Hodge frowned, confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Sure, but we're all riding Cleansweep Sevens! They're no match for a Nimbus 2000, let alone Slytherin's shiny new Nimbus 2001s…"
"Uh—"
Hodge scanned the Ravenclaw team. They were lean and well-proportioned, clearly lacking the weight advantage that Slytherin—aside from their Seeker—seemed to prioritize. Slytherin's players were practically built like gorillas, and their captain even had the nickname "Gorilla Captain."
Hodge and Michael settled into the stands, watching students try out one by one, performing high-skill maneuvers on their brooms. The skill levels varied wildly—some were clearly just there for fun, but a few stood out. Cho Chang, a year above them, zipped around the pitch with ease, climbing sharply one moment and surveying the field from above the next. When she executed a daring high-speed dive, the captain's furrowed brow finally relaxed, and he joined Cho's friends on the ground in applause.
Even Hodge could tell Cho's performance was deliberate, clearly aimed at securing the Seeker position.
A few other students also shone during the tryouts.
An hour later, the captain called an end to the session. He gathered the seven official team members and three reserves for a pre-season pep talk, then organized a three-on-three friendly match.
"Hodge, give Chaser a go," the captain said.
Chasers were the team's scorers, tasked with throwing the Quaffle through the opponent's goal hoops for ten points per score. At the whistle, all six players took off, darting back and forth. With no Keeper assigned, whoever grabbed the Quaffle made a mad dash for the opposite goal, scoring almost every time.
The score quickly reached forty to twenty, with Hodge's side trailing.
During a halftime break, Hodge pulled Michael and another player aside for a quick strategy session. He took on a half-Keeper role, intercepting and forcing passes, while the other two pushed forward to steal the Quaffle. Two minutes after the game resumed, they scored, closing the gap. As the score tightened, the official players got serious. Bradley and Chambers muttered an apology before picking up their pace, their coordination flawless. After a series of rapid maneuvers, they shielded each other and charged toward the goal. Michael couldn't keep up. Bradley, grinning, hurled the Quaffle with force, expecting the score, but Hodge swooped in from the side, narrowly intercepting it.
He faked a pass to Michael, drawing Bradley's attention, then sped toward the opponent's hoops. The goal was wide open. The Quaffle sailed through. The score was tied.
The captain grinned. "A real all-rounder, huh?" He called two Beaters onto the pitch. "One on each side. Let's go again!"
They played until dusk.
The captain was thrilled with the session. To help the new members gel, he shuffled the lineup, rotating players through different positions. Hodge alone cycled through Chaser, Beater, and Keeper.
"You know," Michael said to Hodge as practice wrapped up, "I'm starting to feel good about this team. The Harpies' tactics aren't half bad."
Hodge shot him a sideways glance. "That's not what you said earlier."
"Did I say that?" Michael backpedaled smoothly. "I'm a Harpies fan! Top-notch tactics, solid grit. Who'd have thought they'd beat the Kenmare Kestrels after a seven-day match? Sure, the Kestrels' captain jumped off his broom to propose to a Harpy player afterward, only to get knocked out by a Cleansweep Five… but overall, their style's pretty distinctive, right?"
"Definitely memorable…" Hodge replied absently.
As the players locked their brooms in the Ravenclaw broom shed, Hodge spotted a pile of old, battered brooms in the corner.
"What are those?" he asked.
"Outdated junk," Michael said. "Only good for practice. Even secondhand shops won't take them."
Hodge stared at the "junk," an idea sparking in his mind. It overlapped with a memory of his first day at Hogwarts, a conversation with Professor McGonagall on the long white steps. She hadn't been too keen on his wild ideas back then…
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