Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is not meant to infringe upon copyrights.
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Ten minutes passed quickly. As the whistle blew, Kyle raised his arm high, throwing his Quaffle at the last second.
But because of the distance, the ball was intercepted by Harris, successfully breaking his "zero" record.
At this moment, the scoreboard next to the field showed 210 points, meaning Kyle had scored 21 goals in ten minutes. Scoring two goals per minute while having to cross the entire field to catch the ball was truly astonishing.
Three Quaffles in rotation were almost not enough; Professor McGonagall, watching from the sidelines, used a Transfiguration Charm to help with two more, barely managing to hold on until the end.
"Merlin's beard, I never want to be a goalkeeper again!"
Harris breathed a heavy sigh of relief upon returning to the ground. In those ten minutes, he truly experienced what it meant to experience both pain and pleasure.
The reason for their success is that Hufflepuff has produced a gifted Chaser, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, the second-year student named Kyle will undoubtedly be a key figure in their Quidditch Cup victory.
Harris himself is one of Hogwarts' best Chasers, responsible for the majority of Hufflepuff's points in every match.
However, the problem lies in the fact that the other two Chasers are far inferior to him, making effective teamwork impossible. He almost always scores single-handedly, which puts a considerable strain on his stamina, hence the saying that Hufflepuff struggles in prolonged matches.
Furthermore, if he is heavily marked or injured and forced to leave the field, Hufflepuff immediately finds itself at a disadvantage.
Fortunately, last year they produced a genius Seeker, Cedric. With him searching for the Golden Snitch on the field, it was difficult for other houses to drag out the game for too long.
Add to that this year's addition, Kyle, and Hufflepuff's biggest weakness was instantly addressed.
Harris could practically see the Quidditch trophy beckoning him; how could he not be happy?
As for the pain… it was simple.
Anyone who'd been fooled for ten minutes would feel that way.
"Captain, thank goodness you didn't sign up for goalkeeper," one teammate joked. "Otherwise, we might never have won the Quidditch Cup."
"Shut up, Fello!" Harris glared at him. "I feel like your skills have declined a bit lately. Come for intensive training at eight tomorrow morning."
"Eight o'clock!"
Fello's smile vanished, replaced by a bitter expression. "Training is fine, but ten o'clock… no, nine o'clock, nine o'clock is fine too!"
Hufflepuff students weren't as academically gifted as Ravenclaw's, nor did they possess the boundless energy of Gryffindors; they generally slept in until they naturally woke up on weekends.
Eight o'clock was really too much for him.
"No way!" Harris snorted. "Remember, come at eight in the morning. One minute late and you get an extra hour of practice."
With that, Harris went straight to the court.
Although Kyle's performance was perfect, the process still had to continue.
He looked at the remaining two and asked, "Who's next?"
The two fifth-graders exchanged a glance and both shook their heads nonchalantly.
One of them shrugged and said, "No need, I forfeit."
Although Harris was suspected of tanking at the end, even if Kyle's score was halved, he still couldn't finish.
So there was no need to waste any more time.
The other thought the same.
"I forfeit too... and stop pretending, just laugh if you want to." As he spoke, he laughed out loud first.
Hufflepuff had produced another genius, and he was naturally very happy.
"Ahem... the professors are watching, be serious." Harris pretended to sternly reprimand him.
"Being happy is fine, but we should wait until we get to the common room. With so many professors watching, it's not good to be too smug. It might get us into trouble. "
Harris suppressed his excitement, trying to maintain a serious demeanor.
"Since you've all decided to forfeit, then..."
He walked up to Kyle, extending his hand, "Congratulations, Kyle, you're now the team's Chaser."
"My pleasure, Captain," Kyle replied, shaking his hand.
Professor Sprout watched them from the stands, her smile like a blooming cabbage.
But Professor McGonagall beside her was a different story.
She gripped the "Advanced Transfiguration Guide" tightly, her body trembling.
Pain, so much pain!
Why wasn't such a Quidditch genius in Gryffindor!
Professor McGonagall was certain that with Kyle and Harry Potter, Gryffindor would be invincible.
But unfortunately, he was a Hufflepuff.
"Damn the Sorting Hat..."
"Achoo!"
On the seventh floor, in the Headmaster's office, the Sorting Hat, who was composing a new piece, suddenly sneezed.
"That's strange." Dumbledore glanced at it curiously. "You can catch a cold too?"
"I don't know, but probably not. After all, I'm just a hat." The Sorting Hat tried to rub its head with the brim, but it couldn't reach, so it could only wipe its mouth.
"Albus, I think someone has bad intentions towards me."
"I'd rather believe you have a cold."
Dumbledore said with a smile, "As far as I know, no student dislikes their house. So why would they have bad intentions towards you?"
"That's true..." The Sorting Hat nodded in agreement; its decisions were never wrong.
"Could I really have a cold?"
The Sorting Hat fell into self-doubt. But it was just a hat, and Godric Gryffindor didn't seem to have included this setting when creating it!
"I don't know if the stimulant will work for you… but would you like to try?"
Dumbledore approached the Sorting Hat, making a grabbing motion in the air, and instantly produced a small bottle.
"This is the most effective cold medicine."
"Then let's try it." The Sorting Hat thought for a moment, then opened its mouth. "By the way, your magic has improved a lot, Albus."
"Just some little tricks." Dumbledore calmly poured the stimulant into the Sorting Hat's mouth… or rather, onto the brim.
Since it couldn't eat, internal administration was out of the question; it had to be applied externally.
The potion slowly seeped into the Sorting Hat, leaving a large, dark brown stain, making it look even dirtier.
But neither of the two present seemed to care.
"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked.
"I think… I'm much better." The Sorting Hat rubbed its brim. "At least I'm not sneezing anymore."
[End of the chapter]