Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

Perhaps it was due to nerves or simply forgetting that the "2" was followed by a "1." Either way, under the gaze of everyone present, Neville didn't wait for the whistle to blow. He gave an overly vigorous kick and shot into the air.

"Come back, child! Lean forward slightly to bring the broom down!" Madam Hooch shouted loudly from the lawn. However, Neville soared higher and higher, like Tom Cat strapped to a rocket.

Ten feet—fifteen feet—twenty feet—thirty feet—forty feet—fifty feet...

Harry watched as Neville's face turned pale, terror spreading across his features. Then, his slightly chubby body began to slip, bit by bit, off the side of the broomstick.

"Damn it! Neville's gone too high—way beyond the range of my Featherfall Charm!" Harry, alarmed, grabbed a broomstick, kicked off hard, and flattened himself against the broom as he sped toward Neville.

Finally, just as Neville was about to crash freely onto the ground, Harry managed to cast the Featherfall Charm in the nick of time.

Neville avoided becoming a pile of mush, but his broom had flown off to who-knows-where.

Madam Hooch rushed to Neville's side, and after determining that he had only dislocated his right wrist, she breathed a sigh of relief. Still, to be safe, she decided to take him to the hospital wing.

"You should really thank your classmate. Without that clever bit of magic, I dread to think..."

"All right, child, stand up. Let's get you to the hospital wing to check this out. And—"

She turned to Harry, nodding approvingly. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Then, addressing the rest of the class, she said, "I'm taking him to the hospital wing. None of you are to move! Return the brooms to their original spots. Otherwise, before you can even say 'Quidditch,' you'll find yourselves expelled from Hogwarts!"

"Now, let's go, dear."

As Madam Hooch led Neville away, their figures disappearing from sight, Malfoy burst into loud laughter.

"Did you see that crying oaf? Absolutely hilarious!" Malfoy's voice rang out, prompting the Slytherins to laugh along.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati Patil glared furiously at the blond boy. "There's nothing funny about this!"

"Oh? So, you're defending Longbottom now?" A pale-skinned, finely-featured Slytherin girl with a princess-like hairstyle sneered at Parvati. "What is it? Do you fancy that chubby little crybaby, Patil?"

As the two girls locked eyes in a silent battle of wills, Malfoy seemed to spot something on the grass where Neville had fallen. He bent down and picked up a clear crystal ball.

"Look what I've found—Longbottom's Remembrall. His dear old granny must've sent it to him. Oh, the poor fool probably treasures this thing," Malfoy said, grinning as he held up the crystal ball like a trophy.

"Malfoy, insulting and mocking others isn't exactly a noble habit," Harry said calmly, stepping forward to confront him.

Seeing Harry step up, the Slytherin students stopped laughing, while the Gryffindors gathered behind Harry.

"Potter, who do you think you are? You think you can boss me around?" Malfoy pulled a face at Harry, then mounted a broom and slowly ascended. "What do you think would happen if I left this thing somewhere random, like the top of a castle tower? Think that oaf would cry for his mummy while staring up at it?"

"This is your last warning, Malfoy. Hand the Remembrall back," Harry said, his voice steady.

"Oh, how terrifying, Potter! A last warning! I'm so scared!" Malfoy teased, floating above a tall oak tree. He wiggled his rear at Harry mockingly, smacking it for good measure. "Come get it if you dare, Potter!"

Harry grabbed a broom, but Hermione clutched his arm.

"No, Harry! Madam Hooch told us not to move. Don't forget what she said! You'll get yourself into trouble!"

"I can't stand by while someone tramples on others," Harry said, shaking off Hermione's grip. He kicked off and shot straight toward Malfoy.

Malfoy, who had been smirking while hovering at the treetop, panicked when he saw Harry charging directly at him. He swerved clumsily, and in his haste, the Remembrall slipped from his fingers.

"Ha! Potter, the hero! Let's see what you'll do now!" Malfoy shouted gleefully. But faster than his words was a black blur that streaked past him.

Wind roared in Harry's ears, mingling with the gasps and screams of the students below. Pressed tightly against his broomstick, Harry dove fearlessly toward the falling Remembrall. At just twenty centimeters above the ground, he leveled out, hovering steadily above the grass, the Remembrall clutched securely in his hand.

As the Gryffindors cheered and rushed toward Harry, and the Slytherins stood in stunned silence, a voice cut through the noise:

"Harry Potter!"

The Gryffindors' excitement turned to dread, while the Slytherins suddenly looked elated.

At the edge of the field stood Professor McGonagall, striding toward them in her emerald-green robes.

"In all my years at Hogwarts—never have I—" Professor McGonagall's voice quivered with fury as she glared at Harry.

"This wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Silence, Miss Patil."

"But, Professor, it was Malfoy who—"

"Enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me. And you—why are you following us, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, I'm responsible too. I couldn't stop Harry, and I—"

"Return to class, Miss Granger."

"But—fine." Hermione glanced worriedly at Harry, reluctantly returning to the group, looking back every few steps.

Professor McGonagall led Harry briskly through the castle, neither speaking a word.

Eventually, they stopped outside a classroom. Harry blinked in confusion. A classroom? Not the Headmaster's office?

"Pardon me, Professor Flitwick. Could I borrow Wood for a moment?" McGonagall said, knocking on the door.

A tall, muscular fifth-year boy emerged, looking puzzled.

"You two, follow me," McGonagall instructed.

As they walked through the corridors, Harry couldn't help but notice the curious glances Wood kept casting his way.

After walking for a while, the three of them arrived at an empty classroom.

"Go in," Professor McGonagall said, pointing at the door to the classroom.

The trio stepped inside. The room contained only Peeves, who was writing insults on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" Professor McGonagall barked sharply.

With a loud "clang," Peeves tossed the chalk into the trash bin, grumbling angrily as he stormed out of the classroom.

Slamming the door behind her, McGonagall turned to face the two boys standing before her—one tall and the other shorter.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I've found you a Seeker," McGonagall announced.

The boy named Wood looked confused for a moment before his expression brightened with joy.

"Really, Professor? Are you serious?"

"Quite serious," McGonagall said briskly. "This boy is a natural. I've never seen anything like it. By the way, Potter, was that your first time riding a broomstick?"

Harry nodded.

"I saw him dive from at least fifty feet in the air," McGonagall said to Wood, "and stop less than a foot from the ground to catch a falling Remembrall. Not a single scratch on him! Even Charlie Weasley couldn't pull off a maneuver like that."

Wood's face lit up as though all his dreams had just come true.

"Have you ever watched a Quidditch match, Potter?" McGonagall asked.

Before Harry could answer, Wood was circling him, looking him up and down with satisfaction.

"Light, agile—his build is perfect for a Seeker. We'll have to get him a decent broomstick, though—Professor, I'd say either a Nimbus 2000 or a Cleansweep Seven would do nicely."

"I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall said with a rare smile. "Let's see if we can make an exception for a first-year. We need a better Quidditch team this year. Last time, Slytherin crushed us so badly I couldn't bear to face Snape for weeks."

Harry hesitated as he watched the two of them enthusiastically map out his future. Finally, he raised his hand.

"Yes, Potter? Is something wrong?" McGonagall asked, looking at him with concern.

"Er, Professor, I don't think I've agreed to join the Quidditch team yet..."

"Oh, of course, of course! We should ask for your opinion first. So, Potter, what do you think?" McGonagall asked with a cheerful smile, already planning how to present this to the Headmaster.

"I don't want to join the Quidditch team. It's too much of a time commitment," Harry said seriously, meeting McGonagall's gaze.

"What?"

"Excellent, then I'll let Dumbledore know you'll be joining the Quidditch team—wait, Potter, what did you just say?"

McGonagall stared at Harry in shock, while Wood looked as if someone had just crushed all his dreams.

---

"Harry, you're joking, right?"

At dinner, Ron nearly dropped his chicken leg as he listened to Harry recount his ordeal, looking utterly incredulous.

"No, why would you refuse? Joining the Quidditch team, and as the Seeker, no less—a first-year legend! There's absolutely no reason to say no!" Ron ranted.

"I don't have that much free time," Harry said, tearing into a piece of roast pork.

"I agree with Harry," Hermione chimed in, appearing out of nowhere with half a slice of bread smeared with jam. "We're students. Academics should come first. Quidditch can be a hobby, but it shouldn't interfere with our studies."

"You just don't understand the allure of Quidditch, Granger!" Ron retorted, glaring at her. "If I got on the team, I wouldn't care if I failed every class!"

"That's a terrible mindset! You should—"

"I think you're just jealous because you're no good at flying!"

"I'm full," Harry said, standing up and using a spell to clean the grease off his hands. As he headed toward the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Hermione were still bickering behind him.

Just outside the Great Hall, Harry came face-to-face with someone he didn't particularly like—Malfoy.

With Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, Malfoy sneered at Harry. "What's the matter, Potter? Enjoying your last meal at Hogwarts? Planning to take the train back to those Muggles? Want me to see you off?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, glaring at him and his cronies. "What's the matter? Back on solid ground with your 'friends' around, and suddenly you're brave again?"

Malfoy gave her a lazy once-over. "Filthy Mudblood. This doesn't concern you—scram."

"Mudblood?" Harry and Hermione both frowned in confusion, but Ron's face immediately darkened.

True, he didn't like Hermione much and often wanted to argue with her, but that was no excuse for a Slytherin to insult a Gryffindor like that.

"Malfoy, you'd better apologize to Granger right now, or you'll regret it!"

"Oh, the Weasel wants to play hero?" Malfoy sneered. "Or is it that you fancy this Mudblood?"

"Harry, what's a Mudblood?" Hermione whispered, tugging at Harry's sleeve.

"It's the worst insult for someone born to Muggles," Ron hissed, glaring at Malfoy. "Only the foulest wizards use it. If you're so brave, Malfoy, let's duel—just you and me!"

"A duel? Fine," Malfoy said smugly. "How about tonight? A proper wizard's duel, no—"

Malfoy's taunt was cut short by a fist landing squarely on his pristine face.

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