Harry felt a touch of embarrassment. Guys, you could've mentioned the attribute points earlier.
Professor McGonagall, tempted to crack a joke, almost said, "Why don't you leave? I liked you better when you were all defiant and untamed." But, having just reclaimed the Quidditch Cup, she wasn't in the mood for jesting.
Instead, she declared on the spot that she'd give Harry the green light—special exceptions had already been made, so a few more wouldn't hurt. Harry didn't even need to train; they just needed to lock him in as part of the team.
Oliver Wood had no objections. Come on, it's Harry Potter!
The guy was destined for big things, researching spells like Avada Kedavra. There was no way he'd waste all his time on the Quidditch pitch.
At dinner, Harry told Ron about joining the team and casually asked about the rules. "What does a Seeker do, exactly? Is it like a Keeper or a Beater?"
Ron, halfway through lifting a steak and kidney pie to his mouth, froze mid-bite.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first-years never— You've got to be the youngest House player in years!"
"A century, actually," Harry corrected, grabbing a pie and stuffing it into his mouth. Until he fully regained his strength, his appetite would remain absurdly large. "Wood told me it's a relatively new rule that first-years can't play."
"We're going to win for sure!" Ron exclaimed. "With you on the field, imagine it—Slytherin students up against the guy who defeated You-Know-Who!"
Having spent enough time with Harry, Ron wasn't all that scared of Voldemort anymore. After all, Voldemort was just someone Harry had beaten. Whatever lingering fear the name carried seemed dispelled by Harry's overwhelming charisma. Friends and allies sitting near Harry felt a powerful sense of protection.
Ron and Hermione's names were already in the system. All they needed was a formal oath to officially join the Night's Watch Mage Apprentice sequence, which came with certain perks—like enhanced training efficiency, faster mastery of basic spells, and a safeguard against losing progress in advanced spells.
"I start training next week," Harry said. "Don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret… though it's probably unnecessary. Like you said, we're guaranteed to win. He just wants to see the look on Slytherin's faces when they're caught off guard."
"You're still going to train?" Ron asked. He loved Quidditch and respected the sport deeply. If he had the chance to join the team, he'd practice until he dropped. But he respected Harry's strength even more. With Harry's near-omnipotent abilities, why waste time on something as trivial as British sports? Harry was a busy guy!
"I don't know the rules, Ron," Harry explained. "And I'll need to show up a few times, at least. It won't take long. I don't want to waste too much time either."
Just then, Fred and George Weasley strolled into the Great Hall.
They spotted Harry immediately and hurried over.
"Well done," George said in a low voice. "Wood told us."
As Beaters for the House team, of course Wood wouldn't keep it from them.
"We're definitely winning the Quidditch Cup this year," Fred declared. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year, our team's going to shine. You're going to be brilliant, Harry. When Wood told us, we were so excited we could barely string a sentence together. We've got Harry Potter—how could we possibly lose?"
"Don't say that," Harry replied. "It's a team effort. Quidditch isn't a one-man show."
He was good at saying the right thing, but the truth was—
"Honestly, it's not like playing football in China, where I had to pretend to be normal. Even if you're all just actors, I could take on both teams and still win."
"But we've got to go," Fred said. "Lee Jordan thinks he's found a new secret passage that leads outside the school."
"Probably the one behind that sycophantic Gregory statue," George added. "We found it our first week here. See you!"
"There's a passage that leads outside the school?" Harry said, nodding at them. "Thanks, Fred."
"I'm George."
"Ha, you two can't fool me. I can tell you apart."
"You always see right through us, great Lion King, sir!"
At first, the twins had been curious about how Harry could read them so well. But after realizing Harry could see through everyone in the House, they accepted it as a given. Harry's wisdom was beyond normal comprehension.
As Fred and George walked off, an unwelcome figure appeared: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed to be trying—and failing—to dissuade him from approaching.
"Mr. Potter," Malfoy said, "sorry to interrupt your meal. I need to speak with Ron."
Lately, Malfoy's conflicts with Gryffindor—mostly with Neville and Ron—had been escalating. He seemed resentful that two seemingly ordinary boys were so close to Harry.
While Neville had true courage, at this age he often came off as timid. Ron, on the other hand, didn't take Malfoy's attitude lying down, and today marked their nth clash.
"Ron's my friend, Malfoy," Harry said. "Didn't you know?"
Crabbe and Goyle immediately stood, ready to bolt.
Malfoy stayed seated, maintaining an air of composure on the surface, but inwardly— "You two, pull me back!"
"Wait, Harry," Ron said. "I don't want Malfoy thinking I'm just hiding behind you. I'm not afraid of him."
Seeing Harry wasn't upset, Ron turned to Malfoy. "So, what do you want?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, dialed back his already restrained aura, and stood to pat Ron on the shoulder. He moved a short distance away to continue devouring his meal, leaving the two boys to their confrontation.
Ugh, this damn charisma of mine, Harry thought. Malfoy had shown nothing but respect toward him the entire time. Unknowingly, Harry had already tamed him. And I've been trying so hard to hold back.
"I want to challenge you, Ron Weasley," Malfoy said, glancing at Harry, who was eating quickly but elegantly, likely out of earshot. He lowered his voice. "A wizard's duel, just wands—no physical contact. And this is between us. You can't have Mr. Potter as your second!"
"Fine, I accept," Ron said. "But you can't have a second either."
Malfoy glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. …They're pretty useless anyway.
"Deal," he said. "Midnight, then? We'll meet in the Trophy Room. It's never locked."
"If you win," Malfoy continued, "I'll replace all your stuff—textbooks, wand, everything. Your wand's pretty old, isn't it? You don't want to embarrass Mr. Potter by falling behind in your studies because of it."
"I don't need your charity, Malfoy," Ron snapped.
"It's not charity. If you win, it's your prize. You'd deserve it."
Ron hesitated, swayed by the logic.
Harry had suggested replacing Ron's wand multiple times—it was dangerously unreliable—but Ron refused to let Harry buy him one. He had his pride.
Harry had considered finding odd jobs for Ron to earn money, but at Hogwarts, opportunities were scarce. He'd have to wait for Christmas to gift something. Even if it wasn't perfectly tailored, a safer wand combination would still be better than Ron's current one.
"But what's your real goal, Malfoy?" Ron asked, skeptical of his goodwill.
"If I win," Malfoy said, "you'll introduce me to Mr. Potter as a friend."
"I'm not betting Harry!" Ron shot back.
"I'm in," Harry said, his voice soft but carrying effortlessly to their ears.
"You heard that?" Ron and Malfoy said in unison.
"Yeah," Harry replied. "I'd like to see how wizards duel. If you don't mind, I'd like to watch."
————
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