Thursday morning's cereal tasted practically bland, and my lack of appetite only exacerbated my foul mood. The sky outside mirrored my disposition, its grayness casting a cold, gloomy hue across the Great Hall. Even the sun's feeble rays streaming through the stained glass windows felt chilly on my back, making me fear that this dismal start might foretell a day filled with misfortune.
In an attempt to muster some energy for the long day ahead, I refilled my bowl, glancing at my timetable with a hint of resignation. Another lackluster spoonful of cereal barely managed to coax my taste buds to life. Soon enough, the hall was abuzz with the arrival of owls, gracefully soaring through the air as they distributed parcels and letters to their intended recipients.
Among the bustling crowd, my attention was drawn to Elara, the familiar sable-coloured envelope adorned with a crimson wax seal hanging from her talon. I relieved her of her precious cargo, offering the customary treat of sausage and buttered toast from the tray before tenderly stroking her feathers. "Thanks for the letter, safe travels," I murmured, offering a gentle caress to her sleek beak as I launched her skyward.
My fingers brushed over the envelope's elegant, golden script, spelling out my name. I tucked it away in my pocket, resolving to summon the courage to read it later in the day.
Just as I was about to scoop up another spoonful of cereal, a sizable barn owl swooped past my face, its large wings nearly tipping my cereal bowl into my lap. Tied to its foot, there dangled a brown paper box, secured with a slender piece of string. Longbottom's eyes darted to the note attached as the parcel landed in his hands. With haste, he unraveled the wrapping paper, unveiling a vibrant red cardboard box adorned with a gleaming golden R embossed on the lid.
Within the box lay an even smaller glass orb, no larger than a marble, filled with ethereal, milk-white smoke. "It's a Rememball!" Longbottom exclaimed, holding it aloft beneath the morning sun for a closer inspection. "Gran knows I forget things all the time—this little marvel reminds you if you've forgotten something. You hold it like this, and if it turns red—" His enthusiasm waned as he gently released his grip on the Rememball, watching as its hue transformed into a vibrant scarlet red.
"You've forgotten something..." pointed out Granger as she took an exaggerated sip from her tea-cup. Longbottom raised his arm a bit higher into the air as he tightened his grip around the marble again, scrunching his eyes tightly to try remember what he had forgotten. I didn't know how he thought he'd be successful; it would be a miracle for someone like Longbottom to remember something he has forgotten. But it didn't stop him from trying, distracted from his surroundings. Draco walked past, taking a sudden interest in the glistening item in Longbottom's hand before ripping it from his grip.
"Give it back, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, standing up suddenly and slamming his hand into the table bellow. Draco snickered, looking between Crabbe, Goyle and I as he threw the glass ball up and down, higher and higher with every throw. Suddenly, he threw it even higher over the breakfast table, intending for Potter to not catch it. But as if it were second nature to Potter, he grabbed it mid air, pulling it into his chest. A harsh sneer appeared on Malfoy's face as he noticed there was no glass spreading across the table and the sudden wails of Longbottom. He nodded towards the Slytherin breakfast table, realising there was no more games to be had at the Gryffindor table.
While Hermione soon took another rather annoying and obnoxious sip from her teacup, she began to review her timetable as well as Harry's, who sat beside her, "Look", she pointed towards a period on Harry's parchment. "We have flying lessons today," she said with a growing frown. Hermione Granger clearly harbored a strong aversion to the idea of broomstick flying, openly acknowledging her inability to apply her usual studious approach to improve her skills. In stark contrast, I felt a surge of excitement coursing through me. I had been soaring on broomsticks since the tender age of infancy, engaging in countless thrilling matches with my grandfather during summer holidays.
After a moment of fond reminiscence about those cherished summer days, I shifted my gaze back to the others at the table, only to realize that I was the sole individual wearing a genuine smile of anticipation.
Hermione's expression twisted into a grimace, her complexion paling noticeably. Neville, true to his usual demeanor, wore an expression of profound despair. Observing the somber atmosphere enveloping her, Granger sprang into action, her mind brimming with facts gleaned from her late-night readings. As she began reciting these details from memory, Neville clung to her every word, making a valiant effort to absorb all the knowledge she imparted.
However, as breakfast drew to a close, the weight of comprehending the myriad maneuvers required for broomstick flight became too much for Neville to bear. His complexion shifted to an unhealthy shade of green, and he swayed slightly, his eyes threatening to roll back as light-headedness gripped him, a stark realization dawning on him about the complexities of broomstick handling.
The cumulative effects of my increasingly truncated sleep hours were finally catching up to me as the clock struck half-past three. I could sense my eyelids growing heavy during the early morning classes, despite my best efforts to rouse myself with self-inflicted slaps to the face or the occasional jolt from Rosalind as we moved between classes. This relentless cycle of abrupt awakenings had persisted unabated for the past week.
As we made our way across the field toward the Quidditch pitch, the relentless gusts of cold wind stung my face, ensuring I remained wide awake. There, waiting for us with an imposing air of confidence, stood a diminutive figure. Her vibrant pink hair clashed fiercely with her piercing yellow eyes. Clad in what appeared to be substantial Quidditch attire, she wore a black Quidditch cloak draping her shoulders, and a robust yellow belt cinched around her waist, securing her Quidditch gloves.
At her feet, two immaculately aligned rows of brooms stretched out, each one assigned to a student. I made a beeline for the most well-maintained broom in the row, a gratifying sight in contrast to the expressions of uncertainty etched on the faces of my fellow students as they gazed at their assigned brooms.
Thankfully, my broom appeared to be in solid shape, with an intact, bushy tail that wouldn't hinder its maneuverability in the sky. The nose of the broom remained pointed and elegantly curved, facilitating precise control over its direction.
She began the class with some pleasantries, introducing herself as Madam Hooch before beginning with the class. "We're going to start with bringing your broom up! Stick out your right hand over your broom," she ordered, demonstrating on her own imaginary broom down beside her right leg. "and say, Up!" Everyone began to shout up towards their broom. My broom shot up into my hand, having plenty of practise in my late grandfather's back garden. Hermione's broom began to flutter around the floor like a fish, rising incredibly slowly from the floor as she repeatedly shouted up. Irritation laced her voice, her cheeks red from anger and embarrassment as she occasionally glanced in my direction.
"You lack conviction in your voice, Granger! Come on, shout," I shouted from the other side of the field, smiling as her face grew even brighter and her eyebrows scrunching closer together in anger. As her patience suddenly snapped in half, she shouted her final up and the broom suddenly shot straight into her hand, almost pulling her over in the process of trying to catch it. A small smile erupted on her lips as she looked around at everyone else. She caught my glance, her smile slowly fading. "You're welcome!" I smirked, taking credit for her success to her disdain.
Madam Hooch began to pace up and down the middle of the two rows while she was awarding numerous approving nods towards who got their brooms to obey, including myself and Draco. "Now, when I blow my whistle, you will kick off from the ground, hard," she said, demonstrating how to mount a broom. "Ah, Malfoy - you're holding your broom wrong!" she said as she looked at everyone's stances, causing a group of Gryffindors to laugh.
"Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and the come straight back down by leaning slightly forward. On my whistle - three - two -" Madam Hooch said sternly as she surveyed the sky to check for any potential dangers above us. Soon a loud cry came from the end of the row to her left. Longbottom had kicked off a second too early, soaring high into the sky at immeasurable speed as he leaned back far on his broom.
"Madam Hooch!" someone shouted from the crowd, pointing to the boy being flung side to side by his broom.
"Come back, boy!" Hooch shouted, throwing her fist into the air in attempt to catch the end of his robe. He was almost twelve feet into the air, he almost reached the first floor of the Gryffindor Tower's window. Hooch shouted for him to point his broom downwards gently to commence a slow descent to the ground, instead it spun him uncontrollably toward the castle walls. He fell to the ground, the sound of bone breaking echoing across the field. The broom began to drift lazily, slowly rising higher and higher once more and followed the breeze toward the Forbidden Forest, and within seconds, it was lost amongst the trees. Everyone surrounded Longbottom, all trying to get a morbid glance at the boy and his broken arm. His eyes were watery, and snot ran down his nose. His breath was ragged, running on adrenalin as he cradled his arm. Madam Hooch pushed through the crowd, her face turning as pale as Longbottom's.
She wrapped an arm around his body, hooking her hand under his armpit to get a better grip of the boy. She effortlessly hoisted the boy to his feet as if he weighed as much as feather. His legs began to shake under his own body weight as the shock of everything that happened had warn off. "None of you is to move while I take him to the hospital wing! None of you, do you hear me or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can even say Quidditch. Come on, dear"
Within seconds of Madam Hooch and Longbottom hobbling off out of earshot, Draco burst into laughter, almost doubling over. "Did you see his face?" He continued to snicker, wiping away fake tears from his face. The other Slytherins and I joined in with small snickers, some louder than others.
"Shut up, Malfoy" snapped Patil out of nowhere.
"Oh, sticking up for Longbottom?" I asked condescendingly, earning a few more giggles from the Slytherin behind me and scowl from Granger.
"I would have never thought you were into cry babies, Parvati," continued Pansy Parkinson.
"Look!" shouted Draco, pointing to something shining within the grass. He slowly made his way towards the shiny object, "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He began to observe the object in his hand, showing it to other Slytherin students and even throwing it into the air as if it's a tennis ball.
"Give it here, Malfoy." Harry threateningly commanded, extending out his hand. Everyone, including me, stopped talking and snickering to see the events unfold. Malfoy stood there for a second or two, processing the fact that he got challenged but began to form a devilish sneer on his face.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?" he snickered.
"Come on, Draco. Give it here." I asked, giggling slightly at the image of Longbottom falling off his broom again trying to get his Rememball. Draco gave me an austere look, confused as to why I was not joining him in his fun. It was starting to get boring fighting over this Rememball, I'd rather smash it myself under my shoe.
"Give it here!" Harry yelled, recapturing people's attention. He attempted to look intimidating, but, it fell short due to his scruffy looking hair and circle-rimmed glasses which were practically at the end of his nose as he looked towards Draco.
Instead of responding like he usually did with a witty retort, the Malfoy boy jumped onto a broom and quickly soared into the air, holding the Rememball in the air like a trophy. "Come and get it, Potter!" Draco challenged. Without a second to think, Potter went to grab a broom next to him. He was only stopped by Granger grabbing his arm.
"No," she shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us into trouble."
He ignored her, his ears red with anger, and started to rise to Draco's height after kicking hard against the ground, causing a dent into the soggy ground.
Recognizing that Draco was about to engage Potter in a thrilling aerial chase, I wasted no time, springing to my broom and kicking off the ground with a burst of determination. As I ascended to their altitude, the exhilarating rush of cold air electrified my senses, and I could tell it had the same invigorating effect on Potter.
This experience transported me back to those cherished moments of my childhood, flying on a smaller broom with my grandfather in the garden during summer. The frigid breeze whipped past my face, making my clothes dance in the wind. Like Potter, I reveled in the sheer joy of flight, reliving those fond memories as we soared through the sky.
Potter exhibited a natural grace in the air, moving effortlessly against the wind. With a determined focus, he gradually angled his broom upward, gaining altitude in pursuit of Draco. In a swift, coordinated maneuver, both of us veered sharply toward Draco, catching him off guard with our rapid approach.
"Hand it over, Malfoy!" Potter's voice rang out above the roar of fluttering robes and the rush of wind in our ears. He extended his hand once more, his resolve unwavering. "Or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh, really?" Draco retorted, suddenly halting in his flight. "I'd be quite entertained to witness your attempt!" he called out as he veered towards the castle, darting skillfully between the spires. My eyes involuntarily rolled at Draco's bravado, and I exchanged a knowing glance with Potter. Gripping my broom with determination, I felt the wind tugging at my robes, attempting to drag me down the shaft.
In a bold move, I extended my hand to seize Draco's robe, narrowly missing him as he agilely evaded my grasp. I had to react swiftly, executing a sharp right turn to maintain my course. From below, I could hear gasps of astonishment and a chorus of applause echoing through the air.
"Come on, Draco. This has been fun and all, but it's time to hand back the ball. You know how easily I could get it off you," I smiled, irritating him further.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy" Harry chirped in, further increasing the worry Draco was feeling in this out-numbered situation. His eyebrows soon shot up as he got an idea.
"Fine, Warwick, Potter. You want to play a game? Catch it if you can?" He threw the ball high into the air. In a split-second decision, I decided to rush after it. The wind began to whistle past my ears as I tipped my broom downwards towards the ball with Potter hot on my tail. I outstretched my hand, only an inch away from the ball and the ground was getting closer every millisecond. With one final lung forward, I grabbed the glass ball and threw it behind me to my left shoulder, hoping Harry was able to catch it. This gave me time to pull my broom up before crashing, head first, into the ground.
The round applause and shouts coming from the Gryffindor side of the field soon surrounded Potter while he held the Rememball in his hand, celebrating an achievement - at least he's good at something. Pats on the back were dished out, even to me as I walked towards Draco. "Now, Draco, what's with the sour face?" I smirked at him.
He marched up toward me, getting so close to my face I could feel his warm breath tickle my nose. "You're getting to comfortable in that house. Helping Potter, huh. What next, you joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" I look dead into his eyes, watching a flame of anger burned brightly in his pupils and for a moment, a sensation to push him so far away from me, he would land in Forbidden Forest, dripped down towards the end of my fingers.
"Now, now, Draco. No need to be getting upset. It was all fun and games," I said, taking a step back.
"Fine, whatever you say Warwick! God, I hope you get into trouble with Hooch." He folded his arms and turned his back towards me, conversing with Pansy. I smiled, knowing he'll let go of this grudge against me in a couple of hours - he liked my brother too much.
"Harry Potter, Olympia Warwick!" I have never dreaded a shout ever, more than I do right now. Professor McGonagall was particularly running towards us, swaying her arms with each step. I heard behind me Pansy and Draco snickering at my demise as I was most likely to be expelled. "Never - in all my time at Hogwarts -." She was in utter shock, and her eyes soon were filled with anger, "- how dare you - Potter, might have broken your neck -!"
"It wasn't their fault, Professor -"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil" McGonagall interrupted, not wanting to hear excuses.
"But Malfoy-"
"That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, Warwick, follow me - Now!" I began to walk towards it, head low in embarrassment. McGonagall quickly strode towards the castle. We were going to be expelled or have continuous detentions, every Friday, till our seventh year.
Potter and I jogged behind McGonagall to keep up with her as she raced through the halls, climbing up a marble staircase. All I kept thinking was how furious my parents were going to be, and nothing was more frightening than my mother annoyed. She was most likely taking us to Dumbledore who is going to tell me to pack my bags in ten minutes and place me on the next train back to London to be berated by my livid mother. However, she stopped suddenly in front of an oak wooden door and turned left sharply, giving three loud knocks. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?" Professor Flitwick?
Suddenly, a boy emerged from the Charms classroom. He was a rather handsome and burly boy, who had scruffy brown locks. Just like us, confusion was written on his face. "You three, follow me" she demanded, turning again to walk a short distance down the hall, peering through open doors.
"In here," McGonagall said, pointing into an almost empty classroom with a series of desks all align with each other, much like her own, with a singular blackboard at the front. The only thing occupying the room was Peeves, who was writing rude and vulgar words on the blackboard, laughing while doing it. "Out, Peeves!" she ordered, pointing a bony finger towards the open door. Without any snarky or witty comments he usually gave teachers who told him what to do, he threw the chalk into the metal bin, which was at the other end of the room, and left while mumbling various profanities. McGonagall sighed while staring at the blackboard knowing she would have to wipe it down before any students came in, adding to the long line of work she must have on her plate. She slammed the door shut and turned around sharply, clapping her hands.
"Potter, Warwick, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker and Chaser!" She said excitedly, earning a small smile from Oliver.
"Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. Never seen anything like it. Warwick has a lot of potential and talent. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?" she inquired, trying to prove her point of how magical he is. Potter nodded slowly as he was embarrassed by the new amount of attention he was garnering from both Wood and Professor McGonagall.
"They caught that thing in his hand after aa fifty-foot dive," she told the impressed boy. "Didn't even get a scratch themselves. Charlie Weasley couldn't of done it."
Wood seemed to be in a dream state while he imagined the scene painted by McGonagall, oblivious to the broad smile plastered on his face as he was picturing all the possibilities of winning Quidditch matches. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked inquisitively, placing his hand on his chin and began circling him.
"Wood is the captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained realising the confusion on our faces.
"He's the right build for a Seeker, too. Light - speedy - we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor - a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say. Warwick too, she's the perfect candidate for a Chaser," he said as he glanced at me.
"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..." her eyes hardened as she was recounting the memories of the awful defeat - it must have been a bad one. She sternly peered over her glasses at us.
"I want to hear you're training hard, Warwick and Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you. That goes especially to you, Warwick." she peered at me more, making me back up into the desk slightly as I nodded 'yes' towards her. She suddenly smiled, "Your father would have been proud, he was an excellent Quidditch player himself" she stated while tapping Harry on his shoulder as she walked out.
"God, you're so lucky!" Draco exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. I smirked at him, pushing his frown even further down. "Why are you getting into the Quidditch team early? They're a rubbish team anyway, even the Hufflepuffs are better than Gryffindors," he continued. He had gotten over the events of this morning the moment I returned back to class with a large smile plastered on my face, racing toward me asking me what McGonagall had discussed with me. His eyes widened at the news of my sudden role in the Gryffindor team.
"It's fine Draco. I'll hopefully see you on the pitch next year. This time our game will actually have stakes." I daydreamed, hearing the crowds scream my name as Draco grovelled in shame on the pitch floor. We continued to walk towards the dining hall while talking about the other classes we had. Tonight it was steak and kidney pie with boiled potatoes and some mixed vegetables. It was the best dinner I've ever tasted.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Draco asked, turning up unexpectedly as we were all contently eating our meals.
"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you." Harry said coolly. They continued to glare at each other, knowing they could not do anything as all the teachers were surveying the hall from the High Table.
"I'd take you anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course he has!" Ron said, wheeling around to come to Potter's defence. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Draco began to size up Crabbe and Goyle as both were just as thick as a rock. His eyes soon panned to me and a large smile formed on his face.
"Warwick," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."
"I hope Potter and Draco don't tap out too early, Ronald, for your sake," I smirked towards Weasley - this was going to be enjoyable. He shuddered slightly but recomposed, showing his confidence again. I got up while pushing back my empty plate further into the table, "I'll see you at midnight," I said while leaving towards the common room to finish my homework.
Ascending the stairs, the echoing roar of the fire that had burned all night provided a comforting backdrop. My hands naturally found their way into my pockets, encountering a chilling touch that sent a shiver up my skin. My fingers brushed against the smooth, glossy surface of an envelope nestled within. As I continued my ascent to the common room, my thumb began to trace the contours of the wax seal, finding its perfect finish oddly reassuring.
Upon reaching the entrance floor, I couldn't resist the urge any longer. I extracted the letter from my pocket, and as I did, I noticed a slight tremor in my hands. The envelope, sable in color, made the flaxen letters of my name and the Hogwarts address starkly stand out. Sealed with a scarlet wax bearing our family crest, it gleamed under the torchlight, revealing intricate details such as the texture of the snake's scales, the rounded edges of the shield, and the intricately wrapped sword handles.
After running my thumb over the wax seal a few more seconds, I carefully inserted it into the gap of the letter. A small, satisfying sound akin to snapping chalk filled the air as I unsealed it. Within the envelope awaited a short, white parchment, its message penned in a familiar cursive script.
I am disappointed to find you have not informed your mother and I about your unfortunate predicament. I will be arriving at the school Monday to sort our your mess. I'd like to see your punctual attendance at your headmaster's office. Don't be late,
Aldridge Warwick.