After finishing his arduous training, Harry headed to the Great Hall for dinner and saw Ron and Hermione already at the long table. Hermione was flipping through a book, while Ron was holding a piece of bread, deep in thought.
"You know what?" Ron suddenly spoke in a low voice as Harry approached. "I've discovered a great truth."
"—What is it?" Harry asked curiously, filling his plate with food.
"Oh," Ron turned his head, a particularly serious expression on his face. "If you skip lunch, dinner tastes even better!" He took a ferocious bite of his bread.
"I discovered a great truth when I was three years old," Harry mimicked him.
"Please enlighten me, Mr. Potter," Ron gestured with his hand, speaking indistinctly but solemnly.
"If you're tired and hungry, any meal tastes incredibly delicious!" Harry said, taking a huge bite out of half a sandwich.
Hermione glanced at them, heavily marking her book twice to make notes. It wasn't until Harry had almost filled his stomach that she frowned and said, "The game's almost here, why is the team training so intensely?"
"—Yeah, that's precisely because the game is almost here." As soon as the topic came up, Harry felt his stomach clench. "And Snape's the referee."
"Listen to me, mate, Snape must still be holding a grudge against you for beating Slytherin last time!" Ron offered a suggestion. "Maybe you should just break your leg. That way, you wouldn't have to play."
Hermione snorted, already too fed up to correct their "persecution complex" mindset.
But Harry said with a pained expression, "I can't quit the game—Gryffindor doesn't have a backup Seeker. If I quit, Gryffindor won't be able to play."
"If you're really worried about Professor Snape or—anyone else trying to harm you, you should work hard to improve your magical skills, instead of just daydreaming," Hermione managed to hold back from saying Professor Quirrell's name. She said sternly, "Harry, we were supposed to go to the Umbrella House yesterday afternoon. I already told everyone."
"Yes—I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly. "But Wood suddenly announced a training session—"
"That's because it rained yesterday, and Hufflepuff didn't want their players' condition to be affected, so they canceled their booking. Then Wood hastily booked the pitch—" Hermione said discontentedly. "As if someone would steal it."
"Don't say that," Harry explained apologetically. "Wood's doing it for the House Cup too—if we can beat Hufflepuff in this match, we'll be ahead of Slytherin in the House Cup, and that's the first time in seven years—"
Harry usually wasn't so humble in front of his friends, but recently Hermione had been willing to lend him her notes, help him check his homework, guide him in completing his History of Magic essay, and even teach him practical spells he hadn't learned yet...
Harry wasn't made of stone. In fact, he was quite sensitive and yearned for affection. He could clearly feel that Hermione genuinely cared about him, offering selfless help without expecting anything in return. So, Harry's attitude naturally softened, and he rarely even dared to breathe loudly in front of Hermione.
"Hermione, is that 'Scamper' (SSC) club really that good? We've never heard of it," Ron questioned.
Hermione frowned. "Don't use that word! SSC stands for Star Seeker Club. I dare say it's definitely the best study club at Hogwarts—at least for first-years."
Ron made a face as if he had a toothache, or perhaps it was awe. "A study club... typical Hermione!"
Harry fell into thought.
Hogwarts students formed many clubs and societies, large and small, like the Gobstones Club or the Magical Herbology Society. He often saw older students going to club activities together. Harry and Ron had heard of some, but hadn't joined any.
"—It's just a place to kill time, don't expect to learn anything useful."
When a certain club invited Harry Potter to join, Ron had once secretly whispered to him, "New members sometimes get picked on by older members. They'll make you do really difficult or embarrassing things, and they call it a test."
Given that Ron had five older brothers, and he seemed very experienced, Harry chose to trust his friend and politely declined all club invitations.
But now, another friend he highly valued was strongly recommending a club that supposedly could significantly improve his spell-casting abilities.
Given that Quirrell's classes were always subpar, Harry was actually quite looking forward to it. He longed to be able to solve problems with magic at critical moments, and he also hoped to easily defeat some annoying people—like Malfoy.
However, Harry also had to consider Ron's feelings; he didn't want Ron to feel left behind, so he was always a bit conflicted.
Fed and full, the dinner on the long tables disappeared. The trio gathered their things, preparing to return to the common room. On the way, Hermione was still reminding Harry, "Comb your hair—make a good impression on everyone—"
In the corridor, a sudden burst of arrogant laughter erupted, accompanied by the jeering of many students.
That laughter immediately awakened a deep memory in Harry. He said with disgust, "It's Malfoy—he must be bullying someone!"
Before he even finished speaking, he rushed out, with Ron close behind.
"Wait—Harry—calm down!"
Hermione stamped her foot and had no choice but to follow them.
In the corridor, Neville was surrounded by a group of Slytherins. He clutched his wand, stammering, "Ma-Malfoy, what do you want?"
Draco Malfoy tapped his wand against his palm, smiling. "Longbottom, I just learned a new spell, and I want to find someone to practice its effects on."
Everyone let out low, malicious chuckles.
Neville nervously pointed his wand at him. "Don't—don't come closer—I'll tell the professors—"
"Locomotor Mortis!"
As he backed away, Malfoy suddenly yelled, and the spell hit Neville. His legs immediately stuck together tightly, like an inseparable pillar.
Neville instantly fell, his face flushed. He struggled to stand up, thrashing on the ground like a fish out of water.
The Slytherins burst into laughter, and one boy even kicked his wand away.
Draco Malfoy bowed triumphantly to his surroundings, like a successful magician after a performance. He then turned back and mocked, "Tell the professors? Merlin—you're such a coward, Longbottom—are you really a Gryffindor? Or did the Sorting Hat accidentally put this big oaf in the wrong place?"
"Where should he go then, Draco?" a high-pitched girl deliberately asked loudly.
"Good question—Pansy—good question—let me think—" Draco deliberately pretended to ponder for a moment, looking left and right, then asked, "How about the rubbish bin?"
Neville let out an uncontrollable sob.
The Slytherins were practically roaring with laughter.
"Let him go, Malfoy!"
Harry Potter burst out of the corridor like a cannonball.