Ron had guessed correctly—before the House Points Hermione and Harold earned in Herbology had even cooled, they were already gone. But it wasn't Snape who took them—it was Professor McGonagall.
The argument sparked by Lockhart ended just as chaotically, with Lockhart fleeing in a cloud of flour.
Ravenclaw, meanwhile, became the unexpected winner. Previously in third place, they now led the House standings.
Oliver Wood was beside himself. He could barely believe McGonagall had actually banned them from the Quidditch pitch—right when they were supposed to start tryouts for new players.
"She can't do this!" Oliver paced the common room in tight circles. "If we can't train for two months, we'll lose the Cup for sure!"
Fred and George, unusually serious, nodded grimly.
"Good thing Slytherin's banned too," George said.
"Ravenclaw's not a big worry. Only Cedric in Hufflepuff's worth keeping an eye on," Fred added thoughtfully. "So maybe this isn't a total disaster."
"If we don't train, everyone becomes a threat," Oliver argued. "I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall. We all are. She wouldn't want to see us lose the Cup either."
"You sure you can convince her?" Fred asked.
"Alright, we're with you."
"Harry?" Oliver called. "You in?"
"Sure. No problem," Harry replied from his corner, then turned to Harold beside him.
"Sorry, I didn't quite catch what you meant earlier. That strange sound—what kind of sound?"
"The kind you don't usually hear," Harold said. "Cold, chilling, like it crawls up your spine."
Harry thought hard. "Does Nearly Headless Nick count? Honestly, I get chills every time I hear a ghost talk."
"Then... I guess not." Harry shook his head.
"Well... probably." Harry now looked uncertain.
Harold didn't press. Judging by Harry's expression, he'd gotten the answer he needed. He let the matter drop and returned to his book: Human Transfiguration: From Novice to Master.
It was the first title on McGonagall's reading list—supposedly the easiest—but it was still harder than the standard Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. Harold found it difficult to grasp.
He rubbed his aching eyes. He was starting to understand why McGonagall had advised against rushing into Animagus transformation.
The next morning, the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived early outside Professor McGonagall's office. But so had Slytherin—led not by Marcus Flint, their captain, but by Snape himself.
The Gryffindors exchanged wary glances. No one liked the biased Potions Master, but they couldn't help feeling a stab of envy.
"Professor Snape," Oliver stepped forward, trying to be polite. "We—"
"Move aside." Snape sneered and brushed past him, ignoring the entire team.
Behind him, the Slytherin players wore smug grins.
"Unbelievable," Fred muttered, fists clenched.
But they couldn't retaliate—not with Snape looming nearby.
"George—look at that guy…" Harry pointed toward the back of the Slytherin group. "Is that Malfoy?"
Fred followed his gaze. Sure enough, among the towering players, one short figure stood out—a blond head straining to appear taller.
Draco Malfoy wore a pristine new uniform and stiffened with self-importance, though he barely reached the shoulders of his teammates.
More shocking: every Slytherin player held a brand-new broom—sleek, polished, and shining.
Merlin's beard. Fred stared, stunned, forgetting to correct Harry for mixing him up with George.
"Elbow Wood," he hissed. "Now."
"I see it," Oliver said in a shaky voice. "Nimbus 2001s. The newest model this year."
Gryffindor fell silent.
The best broom they had was Harry's Nimbus 2000—and there was only one.
Fred and George were still using Cleansweep Fives… thirty years old.
Slytherin players noticed the attention. They all turned in sync, proudly flipping their brooms to display the golden "Nimbus 2001" logo. The rıghtful source is 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡✶𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚✶𝙣𝙚𝙩
The message was loud and clear.
Seven Nimbus 2001s crushed Oliver like a mountain. Defeated, a wild thought crossed his mind: maybe he wanted McGonagall to ban the pitch after all—just to humble Slytherin.
Snape, of course, noticed it all. With a smirk, he knocked on McGonagall's door, confident she'd take his side.
The sound echoed in the corridor.
"Professor McGonagall, I think someone's here for you," Harold said casually, glancing up from his seat.
They were in a small room near the library. Through the half-open door, he saw figures gathering on the floor above.
"No they're not," McGonagall replied, not even looking up. She waved her wand, separating pages from a journal and inserting them into a book.
"These articles should help you. Did you understand everything I explained?"
"Mostly," Harold nodded.
He'd spent all night reading that thick tome, Human Transfiguration, and still had many questions. So he'd come straight to her this morning.
She'd brought him here—same room where she'd once docked him 200 points last term after catching him sneaking out of the Whomping Willow's secret passage.
Somehow, the place felt nostalgic.
"I suggest you pair it with Intermediate and Advanced Transfiguration," McGonagall said, handing him back the book. "The library should have them."
"They do, but Madam Pince won't let me borrow that many," Harold said. "I was going to buy them from Flourish and Blotts."
McGonagall nodded. She couldn't help there.
Even Dumbledore didn't dare challenge Madam Pince—or Madam Pomfrey, for that matter.
If Dumbledore shouted in the library or hospital wing, he'd be thrown out just like any student.
Sure, McGonagall could push Pince on it—but there was no need.
Those two books were part of the standard curriculum anyway. He'd have to buy them eventually.
"You can send a letter using the school's owl post," she reminded him. "They'll deliver whatever you order."
"Any other questions?"
"No, that's all," Harold replied.
"Then please close the door on your way out. I'd like to finish some paperwork," she said, gesturing at the mountain of parchment on her desk.
"Got it," Harold grinned. "I'll be in the library all day, no time to chat with Quidditch players."
McGonagall gave a subtle nod of approval.
As Harold opened the door, he hesitated.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Well," he said slowly, "yesterday when I was checking out books, I came across something about a secret chamber in the school. Some kind of hidden room left by Salazar Slytherin with a monster inside that's meant to 'cleanse'—"
"Nonsense," McGonagall snapped, cutting him off. "There is no chamber, and certainly no monster. Do you really think anything can live for a thousand years?"
"Mr. Ollivander, I am happy to answer questions about transfiguration, but I won't waste time on baseless legends."
Once again, she interrupted him.
"If you truly want to become an Animagus, then focus on real learning. Now, off you go."
Standing in the corridor, Harold watched the door close behind him and gave a helpless shrug.
Fair enough. He should've expected that.
As he looked upstairs, he spotted Snape storming away from McGonagall's office, face like a thundercloud. Clearly, that didn't go his way.
Yikes. Harold quickly looked away.
Across the hall, Lockhart stood in a lavender robe, posing as he signed autographs for two younger students. Every few seconds, he glanced nervously around, as though expecting Peeves to drop another bag of flour on his head.
Nope—he hadn't changed one bit.
Harold yawned and decided to grab breakfast in the Great Hall before heading back to nap.
It was the weekend. He could sleep in.