After breakfast, Loren headed back to the dormitory to rouse Harry and Ron. Both were sluggish, still worn out from the night before. He dragged them back down to the hall, where most of the Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables were already empty. Before Loren could ask, Neville leaned over and explained what had happened earlier—proof his hypnosis had worked.
The night before, Loren had tweaked Draco's compulsion, amplifying his emotions. Draco had already been brittle: targeted by Hufflepuffs, shunned by Slytherins, humiliated when his trap failed. Now, pushed past the edge, he snapped. While Loren was upstairs fetching Harry and Ron, Draco stormed into the hall and unleashed a torrent of abuse at both houses. His words had been so vicious that Snape himself had dragged him off, with half of Hufflepuff and Slytherin following, demanding punishment.
Loren figured it would be a long while before Draco reappeared—and his father would have to pay dearly to smooth this over.
Harry and Ron, meanwhile, were delighted. Their fury from last night's trick vanished, replaced with glee. They devoured breakfast, almost glowing with satisfaction. Even in Potions, when Snape took points for nothing, their grins never faded.
At lunch, Fred and George passed word: Loren's tryout was set for three-thirty at the Quidditch pitch, the only time Wood, buried under fifth-year work, could spare.
Hermione slipped away to the library after lunch, planning to cram in more reading before cheering Loren on. Loren, with over an hour left, decided it was time to settle things with Peeves.
He followed the marker he'd placed last night and found the poltergeist hiding beneath a rock at the castle's edge. Peeves had felt danger in Loren from the very first meeting and had been avoiding him ever since. After taunting Filch, he had fled the castle entirely, hoping Loren wouldn't bother to track him down. But here he was.
Seeing Loren, Peeves reluctantly floated out, doffed his hat, and bowed.
"Oh mighty Lion King, what task requires your servant's presence? A single call, and Peeves is yours!"
The ridiculous display nearly made Loren laugh, but he kept a stern face.
"You call yourself a master of mischief. I sought you out for that reason. Yet you dodge me, and last night you nearly ruined everything. Tell me—what should I do with you?"
Peeves paled, trembling again.
"Spare poor little Peeves, great Lion King! From now on, I'll follow your will."
Loren opened his magical sight, flaring power around Peeves. The pressure froze the spirit in place, unable to twitch. For nearly an hour, Loren prodded and tested, examining Peeves' nature. At last satisfied, he eased off.
"I won't make you bow and scrape. Only this: when I call, don't run. As for last night, you'll be punished—and tested."
Peeves thumped his chest. "Any test, oh Lion King! I won't fail!"
Loren's lips curved faintly. "Then strip Quirrell's turban. Show me what's underneath."
The poltergeist faltered, dread in his eyes. A professor was no student prank.
Loren's power tightened, locking him in place again. His voice cut cold.
"So the great prankster only dares trouble children? If the Weasley twins succeed where you balk, then perhaps they are the true masters of mischief at Hogwarts."
Caught between the crushing aura and the sting of insult, Peeves broke.
"I'll do it! Peeves will complete your test and prove himself the one true mischief-maker!"
Loren nodded once. Peeves vanished on the spot. The thought of Voldemort's face being exposed in the open hall made him smirk.
With that settled, he made for the Quidditch pitch. The tryout time was near.
When he arrived, the players gathered were Wood, the twins, Harry, and a few friends—Hermione, Ron, and Neville—there to watch.
Wood had Loren mount Fred's broom and fly several circuits, barking commands for sudden dives and sharp turns. Loren handled each flawlessly, drawing cheers from the ground. Fred and George hammed it up, pretending to weep at the prospect of losing a Beater's slot.
Satisfied, Wood called Harry over and began lecturing both on the rules. Loren had always thought Quidditch, as written, was riddled with flaws—bludgers and the Snitch made nonsense of balance. He said as much, earning a strange look from Wood, who then carefully explained.
Bludgers didn't simply attack at random—they targeted whoever was near, usually going for brooms. The Quidditch Cup wasn't decided by single matches, but by cumulative points across a series, which balanced the Snitch's value. At Hogwarts, matches were capped at ninety minutes—if the Snitch wasn't caught, the game ended anyway. Only world-class events went on until capture.
It wasn't the caricature he'd imagined.
Then Wood opened a large crate, beckoning them close.
Inside were four balls.
"This is the Quaffle," he said, pointing to the red sphere the size of a football. "Three Chasers pass it between them, aiming to score through the hoops. Each goal, ten points."
Harry nodded quickly. Loren's steady gaze told Wood he'd already read all this in books.
Next, Wood gestured to the two black balls straining against their straps.
"Bludgers. You asked about them, Loren. Care to try?"
Loren nodded.
"Harry, step back. Watch closely."
Harry retreated, wide-eyed.
Wood handed Loren a bat. Loren swung it a few times, testing the weight, then gave the signal.
Wood released one bludger. It shot up like a bullet, curving straight for Loren.
Loren's bat flicked lazily. The ball rocketed back, looping high before veering toward Wood. Cursing, he lunged and wrestled it back into the crate.
Only when the latch clicked shut did Harry creep forward again.
"You see. Two bludgers. They'll do everything to knock players off brooms. That's why each team has two Beaters—to shield their own side and hammer the balls at the enemy."
Finally, Wood pointed to the last ball: tiny, gold, with silver wings quivering.
"The Golden Snitch. Harry, this one's yours. Nothing else matters but catching it. Worth one hundred fifty points—catch it, and you nearly guarantee victory."
He straightened, shutting the crate.
"That's the game. The rest you'll learn in practice."
Harry and Loren both nodded.
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