Because of the maritime climate of the Scottish Highlands, by November, the Quidditch pitch was buried under thick snow.
Fortunately, Quidditch was a sport played in the air, so all that was really needed was an unobstructed stretch of sky. This meant Ivy could smoothly begin training the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Like every other team, Slytherin's had seven players. The difference, however, was that this team seemed to place far greater importance on size and physique when selecting its members.
The captain and Chaser were a fifth-year, Marcus Flint, whom Ivy nicknamed Troll No. 1.
The second Chaser, also a fifth-year, was Adrian Pucey—Troll No. 2.
Then came a fourth year, no less burly despite being younger, Chaser C. Warrington—Troll No. 3.
Next were the Beaters: Derrick and Bole. They looked like half-brothers from some forest troll lineage, both third-years. Unlike the first three "trolls," these two had thicker hair and a more feral appearance. Ivy classified them as Trolls No. 4 and No. 5.
Also in the third year was Miles Bletchley, the Keeper. Although two years younger than Troll No. 1, his size was even greater, nearly broad enough to block all three goal hoops with his body alone—Troll No. 6.
Finally, there was the lone sixth-year, Terence Higgs. Among the entire squad, he was the only one who looked remotely normal, which is why he was made Seeker. Still, since the other six were all "trolls," Ivy decided not to let him feel excluded and dubbed him Troll No. 7.
To keep things straight:
Trolls 1–3 were the Chasers, responsible for scoring with the Quaffle.
Trolls 4 and 5 were the Beaters, acting as shields and clubbing opponents.
Troll No. 6 was the Keeper.
Troll No. 7 was the Seeker.
Nice and simple.
And Ivy's own position on the team?
He was the coach.
Looking at the seven troll-like figures standing before him like soldiers awaiting battle, Ivy began:
"Very good, gentlemen trolls…"
He deliberately paused, hoping someone would speak out of turn so that he could test the power of his Gaze Spell on a human subject. But clearly, these blockheads didn't dare to defy him, so Ivy continued:
"Although I didn't make it clear beforehand, you all had the sense to bring your broomsticks with you. That shows you have at least a little bit of intelligence.
But if you want to change the impression I currently have of you, you'll need to put in considerable effort.
From today onward, I will be taking over the training of the Slytherin Quidditch team—and I guarantee that I will lead you to victory.
Training will be held five days a week, from Monday to Friday, after dinner."
Normally, Quidditch practice was not so intensive—usually only two or three times per week. So, upon hearing Ivy's schedule, Troll No. 1 couldn't help but interrupt:
"But… how will we manage the pitch schedule? We can't possibly hog the Quidditch field all the time…"
Ivy didn't answer. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Troll No. 1 and gave a faint smile. Instantly, the boy toppled into the snow as stiff as a board. Ivy had finally found a chance to unleash Hold Person on a human subject. The effect was excellent, and he was quite pleased.
"Gentlemen trolls," Ivy said politely, raising one finger, "next time, do not speak unless I permit you. If you truly have something to say, raise your hand first."
"Understood?"
The six trolls who could still move nodded frantically, like bobbing garlic bulbs.
"Good." Ivy resumed explaining his training regimen. "Although practice will be held five days a week, only Friday's tactical sessions will use the Quidditch pitch. On other days, any open space will do."
"Since today is Monday, we'll start with the simplest exercise." Ivy pointed to the brooms in their hands. "Come now, gentlemen trolls, mount your broomsticks. Don't rise too high—ten feet above the ground will be enough."
The trolls exchanged glances, then slung their legs over the broom handles and lifted smoothly into the air. All except Troll No. 1, who was still lying awkwardly in the snow.
With a snap of Ivy's fingers, Troll No. 1's rigid body softened again. The Hold Person spell had paralyzed his body, but it hadn't dulled his senses—he had heard Ivy's instructions quite clearly.
Awkwardly flailing his limbs, he scrambled out of the snow and joined the other trolls hovering on their brooms.
"Excellent!" Ivy conjured the Tome of Destruction into his hand, using it as his arcane focus. With a few simple gestures, he summoned a sudden gust of unnatural wind.
The wind swept across the pitch, hurling the snowdrifts into the air and plastering the trolls' faces with icy powder.
Startled, they instinctively pulled their brooms higher to escape the flying snow. But strangely enough, once they had climbed barely ten feet, the gale suddenly ceased.
"Did I tell you to rise higher, gentlemen trolls?" Ivy's voice cut through the air. The bewildered players dropped back down like startled animals, reentering the windstorm.
"This wind field will be today's training. If you can stay on your broom without falling, you pass."
At first, the trolls panicked. But soon they realized it wasn't that bad. Even the least experienced among them had been playing Quidditch for over a year, and all of them had faced harsh weather conditions before.
Sharing a glance, they relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
"You seem far too comfortable. Very well!" Ivy raised his hand slightly, and the wind intensified. In the freezing November air, the gusts slashed across their faces like knives, whipping their Quidditch robes so violently they snapped in the wind.
This was Gust of Wind, a 2nd-level spell. With Ivy's Metamagic Mastery, he could sustain it for a full ten minutes.
The trolls had no choice but to struggle for control, gripping their brooms tightly and pressing themselves low to reduce drag. But given their troll-like bulk, the effect was limited at best.
"Still holding steady? Excellent. Now for stage two!" As soon as Ivy saw they were adjusting, he drew his wand and aimed at the snow-covered ground.
Dozens of snowballs shot up into the air, pelting the trolls from all directions.
"Dodge! Use the smallest possible movements to evade the snowballs!"
But the trolls barely reacted. They simply ducked their heads lower, unwilling to risk falling.
"Ah-ha~ That is not a good habit. If you won't dodge…" Ivy flicked his wand, casting a Freezing Charm that turned the snowballs into solid ice.
This time, the trolls couldn't ignore the impact. Shouts and groans echoed as they were struck.
Ivy's method was brutally effective. By the time the bruised and battered trolls dismounted, they fled the Quidditch pitch far faster than they ever had before.