Quidditch, as Hogwarts’ most beloved sport, always drew passionate interest. Shortly after the selection trials, the news that Kyle had scored 21 goals in ten minutes spread like wildfire. Over the following days, it became the hottest topic of conversation, with reactions ranging from shock and excitement to outright disbelief.
“This is totally exaggerated,” Zabini scoffed at the Slytherin table. “I’ll admit, Kyle is decent, and that map he made is respectable enough for me to approve of it, but there’s no way he’s that good at Quidditch. Twenty-one goals in ten minutes? Even I can’t do that, so how could he?”
“Are you saying you’re better than Kyle?” Malfoy asked, giving him a sidelong glance.
“Do you doubt it?” Zabini replied smugly. “My fifth stepfather was a professional Quidditch player. He said I’m a rare Quidditch prodigy, and that the moment I graduate, professional teams will be clamoring to sign me.”
Several students nearby couldn’t help but stifle their reactions, some twitching the corners of their mouths. Mrs. Zabini was famously beautiful, and she’d had seven husbands—all of whom had died mysteriously, leaving her substantial inheritances.
“I’ve heard things like that before, more than once,” Malfoy sneered. Since childhood, he’d recognized such praise as hollow flattery, and he couldn’t believe anyone actually took it seriously.
“It’s true! He wouldn’t lie to me!” Zabini protested, his chin jutting out defensively.
“In that case…” Malfoy replied, eyeing him with a hint of challenge, “why don’t you try out for the school team?”
“What are you talking about, Draco? I’m only a first-year; I’m not even allowed to play.”
“But Pot—” Malfoy started, then clamped his mouth shut. He knew perfectly well that Harry Potter had joined the team, and every time he thought about it, it irritated him to no end. Even worse, he was the one who had inadvertently set it in motion. Just thinking about Potter and Weasley’s smug faces this morning made him feel queasy, like he’d eaten a spoiled Cockroach Cluster. If he’d known things would turn out this way, he would never have grabbed that oaf’s Remembrall.
Zabini, unaware of Malfoy’s discomfort, thought Malfoy was conceding his point. His confidence swelled, and he announced, “Just wait. Next year, I’ll definitely join the team, and I’ll show Kyle what real Quidditch looks like.”
“But, Draco… you definitely won’t make the team.” Suddenly, he looked at Malfoy with a sneer. “I saw you on a broom once. How can I put it… you’re not even as fast as my grandmother.”
Malfoy’s face flushed red. As far as he was concerned, he was a Quidditch genius. After all, he’d once thrilled his family by skillfully dodging Muggle helicopters! When had he ever faced such an insult?
“Oh?” Malfoy replied slowly, a smirk spreading on his face. “Which grandmother are you talking about? The third one… or the seventh?”
Zabini’s face reddened as well. He despised it when people brought up his mother’s many marriages. “How dare you! You’ll regret that!”
Furious, he threw a punch that landed squarely on Malfoy’s face.
“Aah!” Malfoy cried out, clutching his face in shock. “You actually hit me! My own father has never hit me! What are you waiting for? Get him—I want him pulverized!”
At Malfoy’s command, his two loyal lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, immediately sprang into action. Both were half a head taller than their peers and built like boulders. In moments, they had Zabini pinned, delivering swift blows that quickly subdued the wiry boy.
Malfoy stood up, prepared to step in and finish things himself, when Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared by their side.
“A fight?” Professor McGonagall’s voice was steely, her expression severe. With a swift wave of her wand, she separated the brawling boys, who were now sprawled on the floor, tangled in each other’s limbs.
“Nothing this disgraceful has ever occurred at Hogwarts before,” Professor McGonagall declared, her tone icy.
“Malfoy insulted me first, Professor!” Zabini mumbled in a weak attempt to defend himself. His face was bruised and swollen from Crabbe and Goyle's punches, and he had even lost a few teeth, making his words barely coherent.
“Save your explanations for Professor Snape; he’ll determine your punishment,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. “Now, all four of you—follow me!”
“Pardon me, Professor… I might have misheard,” Malfoy interjected, stepping forward with a pained expression. He covered his face, looking innocent as he protested, “Everyone here can confirm I didn’t start the fight. I was the victim.”
“You heard me perfectly well, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall replied, unfazed. “Follow me… and don’t make me repeat myself.”
Malfoy, realizing further protest was useless, lowered his head and trudged after her out of the Great Hall.
Harry Potter, watching the scene, barely contained his excitement. “Look, Ron! Malfoy’s finally going to get it!”
Ron, clutching a chicken leg, grinned widely. “About time! Serves him right!”
They exchanged gleeful high-fives, celebrating Malfoy’s impending punishment as if it were more thrilling than scoring points for their house.
The Slytherin drama did nothing to quell the school’s enthusiasm for Quidditch—especially not for the Hufflepuffs. Harris, for one, seemed as if he’d downed an extra-strong potion. Whether in the common room or in class, he’d burst out laughing randomly, startling everyone around him.
One day, on his way to class, he bumped into Oliver Wood from Gryffindor in the corridor. Oddly, both began chuckling the moment they saw each other.
“Wood! Hello!” Harris greeted with enthusiasm.
“Harris! Good to see you!” Wood replied, grinning as if they hadn’t crossed paths in years.
“What class are you off to?”
“History of Magic. You?”
“Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“Ah, not too different, I suppose.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries before, simultaneously, they both asked, “So, what’s got you laughing?”
They both paused, suddenly uncertain.
“Well, you know,” Wood broke the silence first. “My owl… she just had twins. There’s something about new life—it’s a beautiful thing, and every time I think of it, I feel a warm glow inside.”
“Ah, I can relate,” Harris said, nodding seriously. “My owl found its mate here at school. It’s a beautiful love story, really. I’m just so happy for it.”
“Is that so?” Wood replied, feigning surprise. “Then congratulations to you.”
“Haha, same to you!” Harris answered quickly.
An awkward silence followed, during which each mentally cursed the other’s shamelessness.