The moon hung dimly in the sky, split into two halves—a perfect semicircle.
Harry snapped his fingers, summoning a small fla with an Igni Sign. He stared at it for a mont before extinguishing it and heading back to the common room.
The weekend passed with Harry absorbed in brewing potions. He barely left his dormitory.
On Monday afternoon, the second Defense Against the Dark Arts class began.
Lockhart, having learned from last week's fiasco, refrained from bringing in any "evil, terrifying magical creatures."
Instead, he turned the classroom into his personal stage.
He invited students to reenact scenes from his novels—what he called "dramatic recreations."
The Ravenclaws were unimpressed, clearly embarrassed by the idea.
The Gryffindors, however, eagerly raised their hands, practically bouncing with excitent.
Lockhart was taken aback. Even first-years hadn't been this enthusiastic before. Sothing was off—very off.
After so hesitation, he chose Neville, who had not raised his hand.
Neville, who often seed like a Hufflepuff masquerading as a Gryffindor, struck Lockhart as the safest choice.
Neville was bewildered but had no choice but to play a clumsy snowman.
Surprisingly, he perford well, showcasing Lockhart's "heroic deanor" perfectly. For the first ti outside of Herbology, Neville earned Gryffindor 15 points.
The Gryffindors cheered and carried him out of class in celebration.
The other Houses couldn't understand.
Lockhart was clearly a fraud, so why were the Gryffindors so enthusiastic about him?
The Weasley twins even wrote a sonnet praising Lockhart.
It was painfully cringeworthy.
But Lockhart adored it, declaring the twins would have "bright futures," and frad the poem to hang in the classroom for others to study.
Then things changed.
When the other Houses noticed how unusually high Gryffindor's points had climbed—nearly 200 points in just one week—they started investigating.
The answer was clear: Lockhart.
In just a few days, he had awarded Gryffindor over 100 points.
Realizing this, the other Houses began their own campaigns to flatter Lockhart, matching Gryffindor's enthusiasm.
Lockhart was elated, floating on cloud nine, truly believing he was beloved by all the students.
That is, until Professor McGonagall intervened.
She had to remind Lockhart not to hand out points so frequently or for trivial complints like "Professor Lockhart, you're so charming."
Chastened, Lockhart began reining himself in.
This forced the students to beco more creative with their flattery to earn points.
Friday.
Harry returned to the common room after detention with McGonagall.
Ron held up a colorful flyer, his face lit with excitent.
"Harry, look! Wood just ca by with this!"
"Quidditch tryouts?" Harry asked, taking the flyer.
"The team's recruiting new players," Ron explained. "Fred told Wood's desperate to find a good Seeker. He's so stressed he's practically losing his hair. Are you going to try out?"
During their first-year flying lessons, Harry had been praised as the most talented student.
"You could recomnd him a bottle of Potter-brand hair tonic," Harry said casually. "It works well."
Balding was common among Muggles in Britain.
Even Harry's cousin Dudley, at just twelve, was starting to show signs of following in his father's footsteps.
Wizards, however, rarely experienced hair loss. Quirrell was an exception, but that was likely because he shared his head with Voldemort—a parasite that clearly wasn't hair-friendly.
As for Arthur Weasley, his balding wasn't by choice, nor was it because he didn't want to use hair tonic...
"He's already using it," Ron teased. "But if he doesn't find a Seeker soon, he might need it long-term."
"Tomorrow afternoon, then?" Harry asked, checking the ti on the flyer. "I'll give it a shot."
He was genuinely interested in Quidditch.
He hadn't missed a single match last year and was eager to try it for himself.
The next day.
After tending to the potion brewing in his dorm, Harry headed to the Quidditch pitch with Ron.
Wood looked stressed.
The candidates so far were diocre at best. With so training, they might qualify as Chasers or Keepers, but none were Seeker material.
"Harry, you're here too?" Fred was the first to spot them.
"I thought you'd be too busy to make it," George added, waving.
Wood turned, visibly relieved. "Potter, they've been telling about your flying skills. Want to give it a try? What position?"
"Seeker," Harry replied.
Wood nodded. "Did you bring a broom?"
Harry shook his head. Second-years were allowed to bring brooms to school, but he hadn't purchased one yet.
"You can borrow mine!" Fred offered eagerly. "It's just a Cleansweep Seven, but it's a good broom."
Wood clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Go on, give us a demonstration."
Harry mounted the broom and kicked off.
Instantly, he soared into the sky.
The wind howled past his ears as he darted effortlessly through the air, executing tight turns and loops with ease.
After a couple of laps, Wood gestured to George.
George understood and mounted his broom.
Fred released a Bludger, which imdiately hurtled toward George.
A skilled Beater, George reacted quickly, smacking the ball with his bat. The Bludger spun in the air before redirecting itself toward Harry.
The Bludger was fast, but it didn't pose much of a challenge.
Harry dodged it effortlessly, even toying with it as he maneuvered.
"All right, Harry, co down!" Wood shouted through cupped hands. "George, grab the Bludger!"
Harry landed smoothly.
Wood rushed over, visibly excited.
"That was incredible!" Wood exclaid. "I've heard you're sharp—how's your eyesight?"
"Pretty good," Harry said modestly.
"That's exactly what Gryffindor needs!" Wood said, throwing an arm around Harry. "So, what do you say? Want to join the team?"
"If I didn't, I'd be in the library right now," Harry replied with a nod.
Wood bead. "Our first match is in early November. That gives us a month to prepare. Let's start training next Wednesday—how about it?"
Harry shook his head.
"Wednesday won't work," he said.
Wood paused, confused.
"I've got detention with Professor McGonagall," Harry explained. "Actually, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday are all out—detentions with McGonagall and Snape."
Wood hesitated. What had Harry done to upset two professors so badly?
"You're a true Gryffindor," Wood finally said, after a long pause.
"Let's train on Tuesdays and Sundays for now," Wood suggested. "Once your detentions are over—"
"They might not end," Harry interrupted.
Wood blinked. "Might not… end? What do you an?"
"I'm serving detention for the whole term," Harry said calmly.
Wood tilted his head back in disbelief. "A whole term? Gryffindor hasn't even lost that many points!"
"Not that anyone would notice," Fred chid in. "Professor Lockhart's been pretty generous with points for Harry."
"We wrote another sonnet for him, and he only gave us five points," George added. "But Harry answers one question, and he gets ten!"
"If I didn't know Lockhart had a date with a seventh-year Hufflepuff last Thursday, I'd think he fancied you," George said with a grin.
"A date? With a student?" Angelina, one of the Chasers, leaned in. "Really?"
George nodded eagerly. "Yep! Fred and I saw it with our own eyes—after curfew, a seventh-year Hufflepuff went into his office."
"He's only been here a week!" Angelina exclaid. "And he's a professor!"
Wood waved his hands to quiet them. "This isn't the ti for gossip. We've still got more players to test."
By the end of the day, Wood managed to select a few new recruits for training.
He was relieved that their practice schedule didn't conflict with Slytherin's. Explaining Harry's detentions to the other Houses would already be a challenge.
At least Gryffindor's chaos wasn't unexpected.
During practice, Wood released the Golden Snitch. It took Harry less than ten minutes to find and catch it effortlessly.
"Get a proper broom," Wood said after practice, clenching his fists. "We haven't won the Quidditch Cup in six years—not since Charlie. The Nimbus 2001 is the best, but last year's
Nimbus 2000 isn't bad either."
Harry nodded. He wasn't short on funds, and a good broom was worth the investnt.
Back in the common room, Harry searched the Daily Prophet's advertisents for broomstick suppliers.
He wrote a letter for Hedwig to deliver, ordering a top-of-the-line broomstick.
Hedwig, annoyed at being asked to run another errand so soon, needed so coaxing before she finally agreed.
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Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
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