The next day, a brand-new Nimbus 2001 appeared on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
Hedwig hooted, confirming Harry had no more letters for her to deliver, and spread her wings to fly off—straight to the Dursleys. Petunia's owl food stash was already depleted.
It wasn't just Hedwig who needed it. In the owlery, she'd made a few friends who shared her enthusiasm for Petunia's homade owl treats.
Ron gently stroked the long package, his touch reverent and his gaze envious. The scent of wealth—practically dripping with golden Galleons—left him slightly dizzy.
"This is a Nimbus 2001. The feel is incredible," he marveled.
"You haven't even unwrapped it yet," Harry reminded him dryly.
"No, the weight! You can tell it's extraordinary just by holding it—"
"It weighs about the sa as a Cleansweep Seven," Harry cut him off.
"Cleansweep Seven can't compare to a Nimbus 2001!" Ron retorted, launching into a passionate spiel.
"The Cleansweep tops out at 80 mph, but the Nimbus 2001 can reach 110 mph. It accelerates to 85 mph in just 10 seconds! No broomstick cos close to matching it!"
He continued, rattling off details Harry hadn't even thought of—wood properties, seat comfort, and more.
It wasn't just an explanation. It was an impassioned ode to the Nimbus 2001.
And it truly was an exceptional broom.
During practice, Harry could feel its superiority—more responsive direction changes, faster acceleration. The experience sparked a thought: perhaps he should try incorporating weapons like flails into his combat training.
Eventually, Wood managed to negotiate with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to swap practice tis.
However, mbers of both teams couldn't resist dropping by to witness the Gryffindors' predicant firsthand.
After all, Harry was serving a sester-long detention—a feat no other student had ever achieved.
Second-year life was much busier than first year.
Between classes, detention, and Quidditch practice, Harry's schedule was relentless.
By the end of September, the lacewing flies had finished brewing. Harry moved the potion to an abandoned classroom that hadn't been used for at least three months, where he continued brewing.
Now, the potion was only missing one final ingredient—sothing from a specific person.
In the common room, Ron was brainstorming ideas.
"Malfoy! He's arrogant enough to steal a portrait. Snape likes him too."
"I think Goyle or Crabbe," Hermione suggested. "They'd be easier to target—they're both gluttons."
Harry shook his head.
"No, I'm not going after underclassn."
Ron and Hermione exchanged confused looks.
"It's too risky. They'd imdiately suspect ," Harry explained. "I'm planning to target Graham Montague."
"Montague? Who's that?" Ron frowned.
Hermione thought for a mont before recalling the na.
"A fourth-year? He was ranked second in the school last year. Slytherin's most outstanding student."
"Wouldn't that make him harder to deal with?" Ron's brows furrowed further.
He was older, more experienced, and smarter—hardly an easy target.
"People will think it was a sixth- or seventh-year who did it," Harry reasoned. "Even if sothing goes wrong, no one will suspect ."
Hermione clenched her fists.
Monday, October 5th.
A light drizzle hung over the day.
After enduring another farcical Defense Against the Dark Arts class (and earning five points in the process), Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and began tailing his target.
It didn't take long to find an opportunity.
When Montague went to the restroom, Harry struck.
"Stupefy!"
Caught off guard in a safe environnt, Montague hadn't anticipated an attack while he was relieving himself.
He collapsed unceremoniously, crashing into the toilet.
Harry flicked his wand, and the toilet's chain extended, transforming into ropes that bound Montague tightly like a crab.
He plucked a single hair from the boy's head and added it to the Polyjuice Potion.
The potion bubbled violently before settling into a deep, murky brown.
It slled faintly of absinthe and alcohol—a less-than-appetizing combination.
Heat surged through Harry's body as the potion worked its magic, reshaping his bones, thickening his fingers, and broadening his shoulders.
Before he could fully register the transformation, it was over.
Harry conjured a mirror and inspected his new reflection.
He was entirely unrecognizable.
His clothes, however, didn't fit.
The fourteen-year-old body strained against his twelve-year-old robes.
Harry hesitated for a mont before deciding not to wear Montague's soiled robes, which reeked of toilet water.
Instead, he used a Transfiguration Spell to modify his own robes into Slytherin attire.
After casting another Stupefy on Montague to ensure he stayed unconscious, Harry left the restroom.
He didn't head straight to the Slytherin common room.
First, he found a lone Slytherin student and used Axii to extract the password.
The Slytherin password was appropriately elegant: "Opalstone."
The Slytherin common room was relatively quiet for a Monday evening.
The younger students had gone out to play, leaving only the older ones poring over their textbooks, preparing for exams.
"Montague? You're back already?" A nearby student looked up, surprised. "Weren't you supposed to be at practice?"
"I ran into Professor Snape," Harry replied in the gentlest tone he could muster. "He asked to retrieve sothing for him."
"What?" The student looked even more puzzled. Snape wasn't the type to send students on errands.
"A Slytherin portrait," Harry said, feigning curiosity as he glanced around. "I don't think I've seen one before."
The student froze, then nodded thoughtfully. He stood up.
"I know where it is. I'll take you there."
Harry followed but quickly grew wary.
The boy's footsteps were heavy, his movents cautious.
He seed ready to turn at any mont.
His hand reached into his robes—toward his wand.
Was he planning an attack?
Harry stopped in his tracks, retreating a few steps.
Had he been exposed? But how?
The older student whipped around, casting a spell.
Harry dodged, raising his wand to send tables and chairs flying between them. He bolted for the door.
"Stop him!" the boy shouted.
"He's a Gryffindor in disguise! He's here to steal a Slytherin portrait!"
"To steal sothing that doesn't even exist."
"Typical brainless Gryffindor!"
The last remark dripped with disdain.
The other Slytherins, alerted by the commotion, instinctively began casting spells.
Stunning Spells, Petrification Jinxes, and even curses tinged with dark magic filled the air.
"Protego!"
Harry's face darkened as he conjured a Shield Charm.
The invisible barrier enveloped him, absorbing the onslaught. He dodged the most dangerous curses, allowing the shield to deflect the weaker ones.
Damn it. The Sorting Hat had lied—there weren't any Slytherin portraits in their common room.
It was an oversight, a trap he hadn't accounted for.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)