Broomstick Games

His Hogwarts possessed a kind of magical power.

None of the negative debuffs—being in a foreign land, attending a boarding school, sharing a boys' dormitory—had stopped Basil from developing a unique affection for this castle and the school itself.

Every professor within it, except Snape and Quirrell. That old bastard Dumbledore was the headmaster, so he didn't count either.

As Basil came to know them, he grew closer to them all.

They were no longer hollow figures sketched out over a few dozen minutes in a film.

They were kind teachers who accompanied you every day and devoted themselves wholeheartedly to your education.

In less than a month.

Professor McGonagall had become Basil's favorite teacher, without question.

She was a strict witch.

She loved plaid patterns; her dressing gown, travel bag, and handkerchief all had plaid trim.

She also remained stern at all times, impartial in every matter.

But Quidditch alone was an exception.

Basil had always been curious about that.

Especially since even Ron had failed to dig up any inside information.

Nearly Headless Nick understood that as well.

But today, he might have miscalculated.

Basil would not get excited over it.

The gloom brought on by having to attend school during the holidays was something nothing could dispel.

"This goes all the way back to your Professor McGonagall's seventh year."

"Back then, she was still a Seeker."

"She had already decided to join the Ministry of Magic after graduation and give up Quidditch."

"It was a final—Gryffindor versus Slytherin."

"The winner of that match would claim the Quidditch Cup."

"Yet just as young McGonagall was about to catch the Golden Snitch and bring her Quidditch career to a perfect close—"

Nick deliberately drew out the last word.

Basil's face remained gloomy.

But the students gathering around gave Nick the motivation to continue.

"Boom! A Bludger. Bang! Along with a bat, it struck young McGonagall's chest and head in succession."

Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean from the neighboring dormitory, and the others shot to their feet and shouted in unison, "It was Slytherin!"

Nick nodded. "As a result, Slytherin was penalized for a foul, but after losing their Seeker, Gryffindor still lost the match."

"Ever since then, seeing the Slytherin Quidditch team lose has been young McGonagall's greatest wish!"

"She has never missed a single match involving the Slytherin team."

Nick gave Basil a pointed look.

He apparently had not given up yet.

"Speaking of Quidditch, you must be curious about when your flying lessons will begin, right?"

"I'll give you advance notice: this Thursday, you'll have the first flying lesson of your lives!"

Basil still did not stir.

Even as all the young witches and wizards from wizarding families around him began to get excited.

But he was an exception.

His parents had been killed by Death Eaters while playing Devon's most popular game, Aerial Collision.

Even before his memories had awakened, he had not been like the other children from wizarding families who loved Quidditch.

Still, the games the children around him were talking about caught his attention.

They were discussing the broomstick games from their hometowns.

Ron from Devon was the first to stand up.

He described the knights' sport of the skies, Aerial Collision.

Everyone held a long pole with a rounded tip and, like knights, used Flying Broomsticks as steeds to duel in the air.

Until only one remained.

And he, Ron himself, was the greatest knight.

No young wizard could survive beneath his lance.

A Hufflepuff boy who claimed to be from Herefordshire stood up.

He said Aerial Collision was far too barbaric and did not display any broom-riding skill.

Their Herefordshire sport, Backward Broom Riding, was the game that best demonstrated a rider's technique.

A pig's bladder was fixed in the sky.

The competitors took off from the same distance away.

They rode their broomsticks backward and struck the bladder with the broom's tail.

The first to reach fifty points was the winner.

Seamus raised his goblet high in disdain.

Being from Ireland, he began introducing his hometown's broomstick game—Stilts Fire Barrel.

Each competitor held a goat gallbladder called a Dom.

They raced through flaming barrels suspended high in the air on stilts.

The last person who did not catch fire was the winner.

That was the perfect combination of skill and courage.

Riding a broomstick backward was nothing more than a circus trick!

Finally, Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff from Scotland, stood up.

"Everyone here, the sports you mentioned are all rubbish."

"No sport can compare to Scotland's Cauldron on the Head."

"It is the symbol of courage, the ultimate test of manliness and bravery."

The room fell silent at once.

Ron muttered resentfully, "That's cheating!"

Not a single person at the Gryffindor table stepped forward to refute him.

After they heard the name of that sport.

Basil's curiosity was finally piqued as well.

"Tell us more?"

Basil's outstanding performance in class, his boldness unlike Hermione's, his disregard for rules, and his handsome face had undoubtedly made him the leader of their year's Gryffindors.

He was also rather well-known in the other Houses.

So when Macmillan saw it was Basil, he immediately nodded.

"This is a game that faces death and bloodshed, displaying the courage of its athletes!"

"Twelve competitors wear cauldrons on their heads."

"Above them hang as many as one hundred enchanted stones of various sizes, suspended a hundred feet above the ground!"

"When the match begins, the competitors take off and use the cauldrons on their heads to catch the stones."

"The competitor who catches the most and survives is the winner!"

Seamus grew more excited as he spoke, and in the end, he even recited a poem.

Twelve handsome, sturdy lads

Gathered on the field,

Cauldrons strapped to their belts, quietly

Waiting to fly,

At the sound of the signal,

They shot swiftly into the sky,

But ten heroic young men

Were destined to die.

At last, he sighed. "Unfortunately, Cauldron on the Head was classified as an illegal sport in 1762."

Basil's mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

It was as though he had been hit by a Bebbing Charm.

No wonder no Gryffindor had stood up. This was a Dimensional Strike.

Twelve competitors, and only two survived?

With such a high death rate.

There was a reason there were so few Scottish wizards.

Thursday seemed to arrive in the blink of an eye.

That morning, nearly every student was absorbed in anticipation of the upcoming flying lesson.

For once, Hermione was not pestering Basil.

She kept lecturing everyone else about flight instructions she had read in Quidditch Through the Ages.

She said it was another good chance to earn points.

If they all worked hard together, they could win this year's House Cup.

Basil thought it was pointless.

They were all classmates, and aside from Neville, every child from a wizarding family had ridden a broomstick before.

Hermione had only read books. Acting like this would only make people dislike her.

Sure enough, aside from Neville, everyone wore annoyed expressions.

Only Neville listened intently to every word Hermione said, eagerly hoping to hear something useful that could help him stay firmly seated on his Flying Broomstick later.

Even Harry, who believed he would embarrass himself in flying class, was not listening seriously.

Instead, he was asking Ron for flying tips.

Hermione noticed none of it and remained immersed in her speech.

Just as Basil could no longer resist warning her, the post owls arrived.

Hermione shut her mouth.

Basil looked enviously at the other students who had letters to receive.

He was an orphan and could not bear to subscribe to a newspaper.

So no one would send him letters.

Harry was the same. Apart from Hagrid's message during the first week of September, he had received no more letters.

At the moment, the two of them were fellow sufferers.

No, there was one more.

Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

At the start of term, owls had often brought him sweets.

He would then open them smugly at the Slytherin table and share them with the students around him.

But lately, it seemed no owls had brought him anything either.

Goyle and Crabbe, the two chubby boys who had followed him around like guardian statues, did not pay much attention to him anymore.

Now, he looked more like the follower.

Thanks to classmate Xu Zhi Nan, classmate LKM, classmate Xiaoxiao Xinxin for their monthly votes, and to the other classmates for their recommendations!