Harry wasn't in a hurry to find Hagrid; after all, the Quidditch match was about to begin.
For years, he had only heard stories about Quidditch, but he had never actually played.
"It's all Black's fault!" Harry thought, but fortunately, Hogwarts was finally giving him a chance.
The next day was sunny and cold; even with the sun shining, the chill in the air did not dissipate.
Harry ordered a plate of grilled sausages and a serving of baked beans in tomato sauce, and sat at the long Gryffindor table, eating slowly and attentively—a classic English breakfast, but delicious.
"Have you noticed how Harry always eats with such elegance?" Neville whispered.
Harry nodded and smiled at Neville, thinking: You'll understand the importance of elegance when you get smacked for holding your fork the wrong way.
At that moment, the chatter at the Gryffindor table came to an abrupt halt.
Snape had arrived.
Harry hadn't noticed when Snape glided toward him. When he looked up, Snape was already staring directly at him.
"Good luck, Potter," Snape said, forcing a smile. "Since you can handle trolls, a little Quidditch match shouldn't be a problem, even if your opponent is from Slytherin."
With that, Snape tossed the book Origins of Quidditch onto the table beside Harry.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied politely.
He soon realized he had thanked too early, as Snape's eyebrows furrowed again for some unknown reason.
"Yesterday, you trespassed into the staff room, and Gryffindor will lose two points for your trollish recklessness—I suppose if Potter's brain weren't full of beans and tomato sauce, he would remember that today is Saturday."
Saturday meant detention in Snape's office.
Watching Snape's limping figure retreat into the distance, Harry felt an impulsive urge to draw his wand.
"He really knows how to find any excuse to take points from Gryffindor, doesn't he?" Ron shrugged.
The Gryffindor students had already heard that Snape liked to deduct points from Harry, but none blamed him; instead, they all looked on with pity.
When it was time for Quidditch to begin, the students left the Great Hall and ran toward the pitch.
Nearly the entire school was there, along with some wizarding parents, filling the stands around the field.
After Harry and his teammates donned their red Gryffindor uniforms, Captain Oliver Wood approached him.
"Nervous, Potter?" he asked.
Harry shook his head.
He wasn't nervous; in fact, he felt prepared.
"Nerves are good. I felt the same way the first time I played Quidditch," Wood said, seemingly reciting a memorized line. "But…"
"Captain, he said he's not nervous," interrupted Fred, concerned.
"We are too," added George.
"Well, boys—" Wood cleared his throat awkwardly.
"And the girls," said Chaser Angelina Johnson suddenly.
"Yes, and the girls," Wood agreed.
Before he could continue, Fred interrupted, "This is the moment we've all been waiting for."
"The moment we've all been waiting for," added George.
The tense atmosphere instantly dissipated after the interruption.
Everyone laughed easily, and Harry, caught up in the mood, joined in.
"That's last year's Oliver speech," Fred whispered to Harry. "I heard Charlie say he gave the same speech the previous year—it's the same script every year."
"Shut up, both of you," Wood cleared his throat and stared at them. "Things are different now. We've got Potter, and we're sure to win!"
Referee Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and Wood said, "Time's up, everyone, let's give the Slytherins a proper beating!"
"Beat them!" everyone shouted.
Harry was excited for Quidditch, but to be honest, he was slightly nervous.
He took a few deep breaths and followed Angelina as they took to the field.
"Look, Potter," Angelina said suddenly, pointing toward the Gryffindor stands. "Look at that!"
Harry turned to see Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Neville holding a large banner that read 'Potter Wins!'
A huge Gryffindor lion was painted on the background, apparently the work of the talented Dean Thomas.
Hermione even cast a charm on the banner, making it multicolored and stunning.
Noticing Harry looking their way, the friends cupped their hands like megaphones and shouted his name in unison.
Harry raised his hand in response.
Friendship, he thought.
"Listen, I hope everyone plays fair and honest," said Madam Hooch, her eyes fixed on Slytherin captain Marcus Flint as if her words were directed specifically at him.
Harry noticed Flint looked like a troll, with protruding, crooked teeth; he did not seem particularly bright.
He smiled at Wood, a challenging grin on his face.
Wood returned Flint's smile with calm composure.
"You need to watch that Flint," Angelina whispered, warningly. "Slytherin always plays dirty in Quidditch—no sportsmanship at all."
Harry knew that anything went if it meant winning.
He didn't understand Quidditch, but he understood Slytherin.
So, the day before, he had returned to the crypt, grabbed some sturdy armor, shaped it to fit, and wore it beneath his uniform.
Harry had never understood why there were so many knight armors in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower crypt.
But that didn't stop him from taking a set for protection—it might come in handy in unexpected situations.
Let's go, let's get hurt!
Marcus Flint, of course, also noticed Gryffindor's small Seeker.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
Flint felt he needed to make the boy understand that Quidditch wasn't won just because of fame.
Seeing Harry staring at him, Flint grinned, revealing his protruding teeth in a sinister smile.
He would never have imagined that Harry would return the smile with one even more fierce.
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