After finding Wood, Professor McGonagall was visibly struggling to contain her emotions. She led them to an empty classroom, gesturing for Harry to enter first.
Inside, Peeves was busy scribbling insults on the blackboard.
"Out, Peeves!" she bellowed.
Peeves tossed the chalk into the bin with a clatter, muttered a string of curses, and zoomed out of the classroom, pausing to bow mockingly to Harry as he passed.
Then Professor McGonagall flashed Harry a friendly smile.
Perhaps it had been too long since she last smiled, or maybe it was the effort of switching from scolding Peeves, but her face looked slightly stiff from the rapid change in expression.
She closed the door and turned to face Harry.
"Potter, there's something I'd like to discuss with you…"
For a fleeting moment, a mix of excitement and guilt flickered across her face, as if she were about to do something improper.
This vibe was a flag!
In this kind of atmosphere, there was at least a one percent chance she might make a move.
From Harry's subjective perspective, if he estimated even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of conflict, he'd grip his weapon. If the odds rose to one-in-ten, he'd either test the waters or strike first.
Right now, Harry had subtly positioned the wand in his sleeve for action, though he hadn't gone on the offensive yet.
Drawing on a bit of sword-drawing technique, he'd dubbed this move the "Hogwarts Iaido."
The first spell would be Expelliarmus, but the real killer move was a thrust, blending magical and physical force. Even with a mere stick, Harry could pierce steel.
He still had his divine strength as a last resort, of course. But since McGonagall was a familiar face, even if she were under the Imperius Curse, Harry would try his best not to kill her.
"Relax, Potter… wait a moment. I'm used to young witches and wizards being nervous when I call them in for a private talk, but you, of all people, wouldn't be, haha."
"Haha," Harry echoed with an awkward chuckle, his grip on the wand still firm.
"Let me introduce you, Potter. This is Oliver Wood. Wood—well, I don't need to introduce him to you. You've surely heard of the famous Harry Potter."
"I've found you a Seeker…" McGonagall continued, "This might bend the rules a bit, but that's alright. We desperately need a champion."
Wood's expression shifted from confusion to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor? Mr. Potter can ride a broom? Oh, what am I saying? Of course Harry Potter can do anything!"
"Absolutely serious," McGonagall said firmly. "This boy's a natural. I was nearby during your flying lesson that day, and I saw it with my own eyes. I've never seen anything like it. Potter, was that really your first time on a broom?"
Harry nodded silently, loosening his grip on the wand.
So that uneasy feeling came from McGonagall's slight guilt over doing something slightly against the rules, which explained her cryptic tone and off-kilter emotions.
Of course, it was well within her authority. As deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor, she helped write many of those rules. She was just so committed to fairness that she hesitated to show blatant favoritism.
If you wanted to talk about breaking rules, plenty of professors docked points arbitrarily—that was far less defensible.
No need to name names.
"You should've seen him fly," McGonagall told Wood. "He could weave through any blockade, in and out, seven times over, and get whatever he's after. Even Charlie Weasley couldn't match him."
Wood's face lit up as if all his dreams had come true at once.
"Have you ever watched a Quidditch match, Potter?" he asked eagerly.
"Wood is the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team," McGonagall explained.
"Nope, but I've seen a few football matches live." In China, Harry added mentally, where they left quite an impression.
He didn't say the second part aloud, since in this world, he'd never been to China.
Still, thanks to a linguistic quirk, Harry occasionally slipped into Chinese, claiming he'd picked it up from watching Hong Kong Muggle films.
Self-taught, Chinese was so easy. Just another feather in his genius cap.
Language classes? Never heard of them.
"No worries if you haven't seen Quidditch," Wood said, circling Harry appraisingly. "Some people are born to fly. I trust Professor McGonagall's judgment—she's the expert. We're in desperate need of a Seeker. You look fast!"
"I am fast," Harry replied. "Probably the fastest man alive."
In another world, in 2008, Harry had outrun Bolt himself, earning the title of the fastest human.
He felt a bit sheepish about it, though. Settling for silver by holding back would've annoyed him.
At this point, Harry would have to be truly dense not to get it. McGonagall wanted him to join the school Quidditch team.
And the Quidditch captain just so happened to need a Seeker.
"Merlin's beard, I never imagined I'd get to play with the Boy Who Lived!" Wood exclaimed. "We've got to get him a proper broom, Professor. A Nimbus 2000 or a Cleansweep Seven, maybe."
"I'll need to speak with Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall said, "since we're making an exception for a first-year. We need a stronger Quidditch team than last year. Slytherin obliterated us in that last match—I couldn't face Snape for weeks."
McGonagall looked at Harry. "As you can see, this is what I wanted to discuss. Joining the Quidditch team is every young wizard's dream. I hope you'll train hard and not waste your talent, Potter…
Oh, I keep treating you like an ordinary young wizard. I mean, I'm not worried about your work ethic. To achieve your level of Transfiguration skill, and the way Professor Flitwick raves about your Charms, you must've put in effort beyond what most can imagine. Success has no shortcuts or cheats."
"No, I do have a cheat code," Harry thought, nodding outwardly but feeling a twinge of guilt inside.
"…Just don't overwork yourself to exhaustion," McGonagall added.
Then, suddenly, she broke into a smile.
"Your father would be proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."
"Wait a second," Harry interrupted, waving a hand. "I hate to cut in, but I'm going to have to decline."
"My father's got plenty to be proud of. Doesn't mean I have to do everything he did, even if I'm his son."
"Instead of playing Quidditch, I'd rather focus my energy on… military matters. I mean, studies!"
Could playing Quidditch make him stronger?
Harry was a dutiful son. He'd already posthumously crowned his dad king and his mom queen, never mind whether it aligned with Westerosi law. Harry was the law.
"Sorry, Professor. I'm going to grab some lunch. Wood, great meeting you. I can tell you love Quidditch. Hope you find your new player soon."
With that, Harry left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving McGonagall and Wood staring at each other in confusion.
McGonagall began to regret her approach. She'd assumed too much. Growing up in a Muggle household, Harry might have no interest in Quidditch at all. She'd been presumptuous.
Two seconds later, before they could process it, the classroom door swung open again.
"Surprise! Just kidding, haha."
McGonagall and Wood exchanged bewildered looks.
Harry masked his embarrassment with a grin. The moment he stepped out, he realized he'd missed out on attribute points.
Attribute points for playing Quidditch? This [Harry Potter] world's achievements were way too easy.
You should've mentioned attribute points earlier.
For strength, Harry had once competed in the Beijing Olympics with a whopping twenty strength points.
What was slaughtering a school Quidditch match compared to that? These young wizards didn't seem that much tougher than Muggles.
In that moment, Harry knew he had to play.
To restore Gryffindor's glory, it was his duty!
"Professor," he said, "I want to play Quidditch."
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