[Know-It-All: That's something you should tell Daphne, not me. eyeroll emoji]
[Heartthrob: Then let's do it tomorrow morning. In the afternoon we can have tea, and invite Astoria along.]
[Know-It-All: Sounds good. I'll go finish my weekend homework first.]
With that, Hermione didn't reply again—clearly, she had buried herself in her essays. Tom, meanwhile, sent a quick note to Daphne. She responded almost instantly, and even suggested bringing along Astoria. Tom, of course, wasn't about to refuse.
After a dreadful week, Harry finally managed to fall into a proper deep sleep, ready to face the weekend.
But in the middle of his dream, Harry felt the weight of his bed pressing down on him, heavier and heavier, until he could hardly breathe. He opened his eyes helplessly—only to see a dark shadow looming over him.
"Bloody hell!"
"Oi!"
Harry jolted awake, crashing right into the shadow.
"Oliver? What are you doing here!"
"Training," Wood muttered, rubbing his nose where they'd collided. "Harry, Slytherin has seven brand-new Nimbus 2001s. We can't afford to waste another minute—we've got to make up for it with hard work and strategy. Remember, last year we could've taken the Cup…"
Guilt instantly replaced Harry's irritation. If he hadn't been unconscious in the hospital wing last year, Gryffindor wouldn't have lost by the biggest margin in three centuries.
He got up quickly and searched for his Quidditch robes.
"Good lad. See you on the pitch in fifteen minutes," Wood said before dashing off to round up the rest of the team. The twins weren't too hard to manage, but convincing the three female Chasers was another matter entirely. Wood ended up crouching outside the girls' dormitory like some sort of stalker, and when a student finally emerged, he frightened her so badly she screamed. It took him ages to prove he wasn't a creep.
Fifteen minutes later, with Colin's noisy encouragement, they dragged themselves onto the Quidditch pitch.
Fred and George were half-asleep, their heads bobbing in unison. Alicia Spinnet had slumped against the wall, snoring softly. Wood's booming, overly enthusiastic voice managed to shake them awake—barely.
But the endless tactical lecture that followed quickly turned into a lullaby. Only when they stepped onto the pitch and the cold wind hit their faces did the team truly wake up.
"Where's that clicking sound coming from?!" Fred shouted after circling the pitch a few times at high speed. Then he spotted Colin, camera in hand, snapping shot after shot.
"What the hell is going on?" Wood swooped down in front of Colin, glaring. "Who is he? Why is he taking pictures here? Don't tell me he's a Slytherin spy?"
"He's a Gryffindor first-year," Harry explained quickly.
"Slytherin doesn't need spies," George muttered.
"How do you know?"
"Because they're already here," Fred said, pointing down below.
Sure enough, a group of students in green robes was striding onto the pitch, brooms in hand.
Wood stormed over with his team, fury blazing. "Flint! This is our training time—the pitch is booked!"
"The pitch is plenty big," Flint replied with a shrug. "I don't mind sharing. You lot can even admire our new brooms."
In perfect unison, the Slytherin team revealed their gleaming new brooms. The golden letters Nimbus 2001 glinted in the morning sun, forcing the Gryffindors to squint.
"Get out!" Wood hissed through clenched teeth. "We've got Professor McGonagall's note. This is our time. You're not welcome here!"
"A note?" Flint sneered, tossing a parchment into Wood's face. "What a coincidence."
Wood snatched it up and read:
I, Professor Severus Snape, grant the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to train on Saturdays to prepare their new Seeker.
"New Seeker?" Wood scanned the line of familiar faces until his gaze landed on Draco Malfoy, who was locked in a smug, almost intimate stare-off with Harry.
It all made sense instantly. Wood let out a derisive laugh. "Bought your way in, did you? Figures. Slytherin really is going downhill."
Malfoy's pale face flushed with anger. "I'd be Seeker even without the brooms! These were just gifts for my teammates."
Annoying as it was, there was some truth to that. Malfoy's small build and quick reflexes did suit a Seeker. He had loved flying since he was little, and while he wasn't on Harry's level, he was still one of the more talented flyers in Slytherin.
Neither side was willing to back down, and the tension thickened.
Then a crisp voice rang out from the entrance to the pitch.
"First come, first served—it should be Gryffindor's turn."
Flint spun around irritably, but when he saw who it was, his face faltered. He swallowed his temper.
"Granger, we applied to Professor Snape on the very first day of term. His approval is the earliest one."
At once, the Slytherins—including Malfoy—took a step back, leaving Flint to deal with Hermione alone. He silently cursed his cowardly teammates. If it were anyone else, he'd have insulted them six ways from Sunday. But this was one of Riddle's people. Insult her, and he'd end up in the hospital wing by nightfall, and not even Snape could protect him.
After all, Riddle was a Slytherin too, and when it came to internal disputes, even the most biased Head of House was powerless.
"I applied the first day as well," Wood said stubbornly, pulling out McGonagall's signed note. Sure enough, both permissions were dated the same day.
"Then perhaps each House could take half a day?" Hermione suggested cautiously. She had gotten up too early, and while wandering the grounds had stumbled across the argument. At first she'd thought it was just Slytherin being unreasonable, but after hearing both sides, it was clear they each had a claim. She couldn't, in good conscience, simply side with Gryffindor.
But neither Wood nor Flint was willing to compromise.
"What's all the noise about?"
Tom arrived just then, with the Greengrass sisters at his side.
After Hermione explained, Tom chuckled. "That's easy enough to settle."
"How?" both sides demanded.
"You duel for it," Tom said lightly. "Winner takes the pitch."