Chapter 41: Who plays Quidditch without armor?

Harry wasn’t in a rush to find Hagrid. After all, the Quidditch match was just around the corner.

For years, he had only heard about Quidditch but had never had the chance to play it himself.

Blame Black! Harry thought. But thanks to Hogwarts, he could finally fulfill his wish.

The next day was sunny and cold. Despite the bright sunlight, the chill in the air lingered, untouchable by the sun's warmth.

Harry grabbed a plate of roasted sausages and a serving of baked beans in tomato sauce. Sitting at the Gryffindor table, he ate slowly and gracefully.

Classic English breakfast—simple yet delicious.

"Have you noticed? No matter when, Harry always eats so elegantly," Neville said.

Harry smiled and nodded at Neville, thinking, Wait until you get beaten with a stick for holding your fork wrong; then you'll understand the importance of elegance.

At that moment, the chatter at the Gryffindor table fell silent.

Because Snape had arrived.

Harry didn’t know when Snape had drifted over to him, but by the time he looked up, Snape was already standing there, looking down at him.

"Good luck, Potter," Snape said with a forced smile. "Since you managed to handle a troll, surely a little Quidditch match should be no problem, even if your opponent is Slytherin."

With that, Snape slapped a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages onto the table beside Harry.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied politely.

But he soon realized his thanks were premature, as Snape furrowed his brow for no apparent reason.

"Yesterday, you trespassed in the staff lounge. Gryffindor will lose two points for your troll-like recklessness. I suppose if Mr. Potter’s brain weren’t filled with baked beans, he’d remember that today is Saturday."

Saturday. Which meant it was the day Harry was supposed to serve detention in Snape’s office.

Watching Snape’s limping figure disappear into the distance, Harry felt an inexplicable urge to pull out his wand.

"He really finds every excuse to deduct points from Gryffindor, doesn’t he?" Ron shrugged.

Although the Gryffindors overheard Snape deducting points because of Harry, none of them blamed him. Instead, they looked at him with sympathy.

When it was time for the Quidditch match, the students left the Great Hall and made their way to the Quidditch pitch.

Nearly the entire school was present, along with some wizarding parents from outside. They filled the stands surrounding the Quidditch field to capacity.

After changing into their red Gryffindor uniforms, Harry and his teammates gathered. The captain, Oliver Wood, approached Harry.

"Nervous, Potter?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

Of course, he wasn’t nervous. He was more than prepared.

"Nervous is good. I was the same way my first time," Wood said, as if reciting a script. "But—"

"Captain, he said he’s not nervous," Fred interrupted.

"Neither are we," George chimed in.

"Alright, lads—" Wood cleared his throat awkwardly.

"And ladies," Angelina Johnson interjected.

"Right, and ladies," Wood agreed.

Before he could continue, Fred interrupted again, "This is the important moment."

"The moment we’ve all been waiting for," George added.

Their interruptions dissolved the tension that had filled the team, and everyone laughed.

Even Harry couldn’t help but smile at the infectious atmosphere.

"That was Oliver’s speech from last year," Fred told Harry. "I heard from Charlie that he gave the same one the year before. Seems it’s his go-to script every year."

"Shut it, you two," Wood snapped, clearing his throat again and glaring at the twins. "This year is different. We’ve got Potter now, and we’re going to win!"

Madam Hooch’s whistle blew, and Wood turned to the team. "Time’s up, folks. Let’s kick Slytherin’s butts!"

"Kick their butts!" everyone shouted in unison.

Though Harry wasn’t nervous, he was a little excited. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and followed Angelina out onto the pitch.

"Look, Potter," Angelina suddenly pointed towards the Gryffindor stands. "See that?"

Harry looked in the direction she indicated. Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Neville were holding up a massive banner that read, Potter for the Win!

The banner featured a large Gryffindor lion, likely drawn by Dean Thomas, who was skilled at art. Hermione had enchanted it to shimmer with vibrant colors, making it particularly eye-catching.

When Harry turned to look, his friends cupped their hands around their mouths and shouted his name enthusiastically.

Harry waved back at them, feeling a warm glow.

Friendship is wonderful, he thought.

"Listen, I want a fair and honest game," Madam Hooch said, her eyes fixed on Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, as if addressing him specifically.

Harry noticed that Flint resembled a troll, with jagged teeth and an unintelligent look.

Flint bared his crooked teeth in a provocative grin at Wood.

Wood responded with a calm, dignified smile.

"Watch out for Flint," Angelina whispered. "Slytherin’s notorious for dirty play and zero sportsmanship."

Winning by any means necessary—Harry understood that well.

Although he didn’t know much about Quidditch, he understood Slytherins.

That’s why, just yesterday, he had made a trip to the dungeons and retrieved a sturdy suit of armor. After resizing it with magic, he wore it under his uniform.

Harry had never understood why the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower had a collection of knight’s armor.

But that didn’t stop him from using one as protective gear, which might also serve some "creative" purposes later.

Bring it on, Harry thought. Let’s see who outlasts whom.

Marcus Flint had also noticed the small Gryffindor Seeker.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

Flint decided it was time to teach the famous boy a lesson—that Quidditch wasn’t a game you could win on fame alone.

Noticing Harry looking back at him, Flint flashed a menacing grin, baring his crooked teeth.

But what he didn’t expect was that Harry returned an even more ferocious smile.