While Harold was speaking with Sirius Black, the Quidditch match had already ended.
When Harold returned to the Gryffindor common room, he immediately noticed something was wrong—everyone was sitting in silence, their faces void of the usual smiles. The atmosphere was downright heavy.
From this, Harold could already guess what had happened.
Sure enough, Gryffindor had lost the Quidditch match today—by a mere ten points to Slytherin.
"Just one more second!" Harry said bitterly, clutching his broom tightly. "If I'd flown just a little faster and caught the Snitch before Marcus Flint threw that last goal, we wouldn't have lost to Slytherin!"
Harold glanced over at Neville and asked in a low voice, "So, what exactly happened out there?"
"You don't know?" Neville looked at him in surprise, as if he'd just heard someone say Hermione hadn't done her homework.
"I got shoved all the way to the back of the crowd," Harold explained. "Couldn't see anything from there, so I came back early."
"Alright then," Neville nodded. "Just like you heard, we lost the match. Final score was 180 to 170. Marcus Flint scored a crucial goal right before Harry caught the Snitch."
"Their brooms were too fast," said Dean Thomas nearby. "Even though the Nimbus 2001s are last year's model, they're still the fastest around—except for the Firebolt. Our Cleansweeps just couldn't keep up."
"And the weather today was awful," someone added. "It was almost impossible for Seekers to spot the Snitch in that storm. Totally unfair for us."
"Malfoy didn't even bother looking for the Snitch," someone else complained. "All he did was tail Harry and get in his way the whole time!"
"Because they knew their own Seeker couldn't be relied on," Fred said angrily.
He was still fuming at how Malfoy had buzzed around Harry like a fly during the game. If it hadn't been for all the interference, Harry would've caught the Snitch long ago, and the match wouldn't have dragged on so long.
"Where's Oliver?" Harold suddenly noticed someone missing. He looked around—no sign of the team captain.
"Still out on the pitch," Fred said. "Malfoy committed several fouls, but Madam Hooch didn't see them because of the rain. Oliver's trying to argue for a replay."
"Any chance that'll work?"
"We don't think so," George replied. "The team and the spectators have all gone back already. Madam Hooch probably won't reschedule anything."
It was their first loss to Slytherin in three years. The disappointment was palpable. Harry had his face buried in his knees, pulling at his hair.
Fred grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a rough shake.
"Come on, Harry. If there's anyone on the team who's not to blame for today, it's you."
"You caught the Snitch," George added. "We only lost by ten points—not a huge gap. We'll win it back next time."
Everyone chimed in with words of encouragement, trying to lift the mood, but it didn't help much.
No matter how they spun it, they had still lost… and to Slytherin, no less.
That gloomy mood lingered well into the evening.
Harold noticed Harry hadn't come to the Great Hall for dinner, so before leaving, he packed some buttered bread and roast potatoes in a bag.
Sure enough, when he returned to the common room, Harry was there, staring blankly at his broom.
"Thinking about getting a new broom?" Harold asked.
Harry jumped at the sudden voice. Seeing it was Harold, he quickly shook his head. "No, the broom's great. It was my fault I didn't catch the Snitch."
"I meant, I've got a broom you could try," Harold said, sitting down across from him and handing over the food. He gave Harry a wink. "It may not be the fastest, but in every other way, it's perfect.
"And most importantly—if you ride it, you'll never have to worry about Malfoy's tricks again."
"Thanks, Harold, but I really don't need it," Harry said, clearly not catching the hint, and shook his head again.
"Oh, wait a second…" Harry suddenly looked down by Harold's feet. "When did you get a dog?"
"Not mine," Harold said casually. "Technically it belongs to Tom—it's his new pet."
He gave the black dog a light kick in the side. "Come on, say hi, you idiot."
The dog gave two soft barks, then walked over and nuzzled against Harry's leg.
Harry was a little afraid of big dogs—especially after the night he blew up Aunt Marge and ran away. He'd been scared stiff by a black dog about this size and had fallen right into a flowerbed.
Of course, that incident had indirectly led to him summoning the Knight Bus, so maybe he owed that dog some thanks.
And now, this dog… it looked almost exactly the same.
Surely it was just a coincidence—they just looked alike. There was no way it could be the same dog, right? Harry thought.
After all, he'd seen that dog in Little Whinging, which was hundreds of miles from Hogwarts. How could it possibly be here?
More intriguing, though, was something else Harold had said.
"Wait, Tom—is that the cat?"
"Yeah, the big fat one," Harold nodded, then glanced down and kicked the dog again.
"One bark is enough. Are you done? You know how filthy you are?"
"It's okay," Harry said quickly. "My robes aren't clean either. But wow, your cat keeps pets? That's impressive."
Tentatively, Harry reached out and stroked the dog's head.
The dog instantly squinted in delight and made a deep, contented rumbling noise.
It looked so ridiculously pleased that Harold rolled his eyes and gave it another kick.
This time, the dog neatly dodged.
"Smart one, isn't he?" Harry said with a smile. Fınd the newest release on noᴠelfire.net
"Yeah… in some ways, his intelligence is almost human," Harold said.
Harry didn't think much of that comment.
Back in Diagon Alley, when he and Hermione had gone shopping for pets, the shopkeeper had boasted about how clever their animals were—smart as toddlers, she'd said.
So Harry assumed Harold meant something similar.
Soon, more and more people came back from dinner and entered the common room.
Everyone was fascinated by the big black dog—except for one.
Lavender Brown let out a shriek and froze in a corner.
She'd recently become obsessed with Divination, and in that subject, black dogs were a terrible omen—something no seer wanted to see.
"Alright, time to take you back," Harold said, standing up and addressing the dog. "You can't stay here overnight, got it?"
The dog pretended not to hear, still staring at Harry.
The intensity of the gaze made Harry uncomfortable. He had the weirdest feeling… like the dog wasn't just looking at him—it was seeing him.
Almost like it was looking at family.
Oh, come off it… Harry shook his head.
He must be starving to be thinking thoughts like that. No dog could look at him that way.
At Harold's repeated urging, the black dog finally stood up and reluctantly followed him out of the Gryffindor common room.