Chapter 461 - 12: A Little Dirty Play Is Normal in Sports

Chapter 461: Chapter 12: A Little Dirty Play Is Normal in Sports

Halloween has many different origin stories. Traced back to ancient times, there was even All Saints’ Day, a day for honoring all the saints.

What did any of that matter? People were simply looking for a festival to celebrate. Wizards celebrated Christmas like Muggles did too, yet whenever they exclaimed over something, they said "Merlin’s beard" instead of "My God."

Poor little kitty was experiencing something like a modern Halloween for the first time, yet she never even got to say "trick or treat." McGonagall only told her it was a festival about ghosts and monsters.

But the feast was undoubtedly spectacular. The skeleton dance troupe Dumbledore had invited stole the show. The only problem was that when they entered, Fang—locked in Hagrid’s hut—pressed himself to the window and stared fixedly toward the castle, evidently having quite strong opinions about all those bones.

Once November began, school life at Hogwarts seemed less tense. Yimi vaguely noticed this and once again tried to get Lockhart to help her find the snake. Every time, however, Lockhart would say, "Ah, yes, I have a duty to ensure my students’ safety, but I’m afraid I can’t right now, dear. I need to answer a very serious question from each and every one of my fans. If you encounter any danger, feel free to run straight to my office."

Incidentally, Lockhart’s office was filled with portraits of himself. Every so often, the moving portraits would twist their bodies into some supposedly dashing pose.

Two days after Halloween, Lockhart finally grew tired of Yimi asking. He tried to conjure a snake on a path he knew she would pass, planning to make a grand entrance and subdue it to humor the child. Instead, his botched spell produced something that looked suspiciously like a lizard, and Yimi flattened it under one foot.

For now, the other students’ newfound leisure had little to do with Harry. Hogwarts’s first Quidditch match of the school year was scheduled for early November: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

McGonagall had very high hopes for them, not only because she was Head of Gryffindor House, but because she herself had been a Quidditch player as a student. Unfortunately, during her final year at Hogwarts, a Slytherin player had fouled her during a match. The fall gave her a concussion and broke several ribs.

Even if Gryffindor could not win the championship, she absolutely did not want to see them lose to Slytherin. Perhaps because he could sense how much she expected, Harry was extremely tense about this match. Of course, aside from McGonagall, the Gryffindor team captain was another major source of pressure.

"Their brooms are better than ours across the board, Harry." Oliver Wood, the team captain, was so worked up that his chest rose and fell.

"But he’s nothing but a spoiled brat who bought his way onto the team. We have to make them understand just how important skill is for a Seeker. They’ll regret letting that little bastard onto the team. It’s all on you: either catch the Golden Snitch—the ball Seekers are responsible for catching, which decides the outcome of the match—before Malfoy does, or die on the pitch!"

Quidditch occupied practically all of Wood’s thoughts. He had been dragging the team through high-intensity training since August, and when Harry’s equipment broke, Wood had nearly rammed his head into a wall.

And now...

He glanced at the thing Harry was straining to hold in both arms and swallowed.

"Entering the pitch now is the Slytherin team. As you can see, every single member is equipped with a Nimbus 2001. Rumor has it they were sponsored by Draco Malfoy’s father for the express purpose of buying his son a place on the team." Lee Jordan, the commentator and close friend of the Weasley twins, started the match by openly editorializing, drawing furious glares from the Slytherins.

Malfoy sneered. As far as he knew, Harry Potter had not bought a new broom at all, and Professor McGonagall was certainly not going to fund a second one for him. Everyone mocking Slytherin’s superior equipment now would indirectly end up mocking Harry Potter in a moment. Malfoy had even spent two whole days composing a poem about Harry’s broom for the occasion.

"Entering now is the Gryffindor team. We know... Good heavens! What in Merlin’s name is their Seeker, Mr. Harry Potter, holding?" The commentary was accompanied by a wave of gasps and a chorus of boos from Slytherin.

Following Lee Jordan’s gaze, Malfoy looked over and saw Harry Potter’s broom gleaming metallically in the sunlight.

A strange feeling crept over Malfoy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his own Head of House, Snape, looked equally sour.

"Foul! That broom can’t even fly!" Malfoy pointed at Harry’s broom and shouted.

"The Slytherin Seeker has raised an objection. Apparently, he doesn’t know that the referee has already inspected every player’s equipment," Lee Jordan immediately mocked.

"Lee!" Madam Hooch glared at him, though she herself looked somewhat exasperated.

The rules merely said that players had to use flying brooms. They had never strictly stated that a broom could not be made from something other than wood. Who would ever make a flying broom out of anything else? Everyone knew wooden brooms were best. A broom’s core was not simply a single stick; there was intricate magic inside it.

Perhaps the lack of standardized equipment was itself an unfair part of Quidditch. By that logic, Slytherin suppressing the opposition through a uniform set of Nimbus 2001s was perfectly reasonable.

"Oh! Merlin’s beard, that broom really is flying! To be honest, even I doubted it a moment ago. It’s fast—very fast! Is this some unreleased brand? I think Harry Potter must have spotted the Golden Snitch!"

In his excitement, Lee Jordan did not realize his commentary had effectively tipped Malfoy off. In fact, Harry was deliberately trying to lure Malfoy in the wrong direction.

"Hey, Scarhead! You think you can win with that freakish thing?" Malfoy caught up and, with very little sportsmanship, tried to ram Harry. He had actually wanted to grab Harry’s broom and yank it backward, but that would have been an obvious foul.

A little dirty play is normal in sports.

But Malfoy discovered that Harry was moving more slowly than expected. Harry was only trying to trick Malfoy into flying the other way. As a result, Malfoy, who had charged in at full speed to ram him, accidentally shot ahead of Harry. Desperate to cut him off, Malfoy instinctively swung directly into Harry’s path.

Harry could not brake in time, and a rather complicated expression appeared on his face.

"Merlin’s underpants, does he have a death wish? That broom certainly doesn’t look hollow." Lee Jordan covered his face, unable to watch.

Malfoy hit the ground in the Yamcha pose.

Snape hurried down from the stands to help him up.

"I’m afraid several of his ribs are broken. Someone needs to take him to the hospital wing," Madam Hooch said—and another person immediately charged down from the stands.

"Oh, leave that to me." Lockhart never missed a chance to show off. "It’s only a simple spell. I’ve used it countless times."

He rolled up his emerald-green sleeves and, under Snape’s less-than-pleased stare, pointed his wand at Malfoy.

...

Lucius received yet another letter from his son informing him that Draco was in the hospital again.

Originally, he had only broken a few ribs. After the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher worked his magic, those ribs had vanished altogether. Draco was now enduring the agony of Skele-Gro growing them back.

Burning with fury, Draco Malfoy wrote the letter with a magical writing brush because he temporarily could not hold a pen. He wanted his father to pressure Dumbledore into firing that monster of a teacher and, while he was at it, expelling Harry Potter.