Who Plays Quidditch Without Armor?

Harry was in no hurry to find Hagrid. After all, the Quidditch match was about to begin.

All these years, he had only heard about Quidditch, but had never played it himself.

It was all Black's fault! Harry thought. But thanks to Hogwarts, he could finally fulfill his wish.

The next day was clear and cold. Even though the sun shone brightly, it could not dispel the chill in the air.

Harry got himself a plate of grilled sausages and a serving of baked beans in tomato sauce, then sat at Gryffindor's long table and ate at an unhurried pace.

A classic English breakfast, but it was delicious.

"Have you noticed? No matter when it is, Harry always eats so elegantly," Neville said.

Harry nodded and smiled at Neville, thinking that once Neville got soundly thrashed with a stick for holding his fork wrong, he would understand how important elegance was.

At that moment, the chatter at Gryffindor Long Table fell silent as well.

Because Snape had arrived.

Harry had no idea when Snape had drifted over beside him. By the time he looked up, Snape was already looking down at him.

"Good luck, Potter." Snape forced out a strained smile. "Since you can handle even a troll, I presume a mere Quidditch match will be no trouble for you, even if your opponents are Slytherin."

With that, Snape slapped the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages onto the table beside him.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied politely.

He soon realized he had thanked him too early, because for some reason Snape's brow furrowed again.

"Yesterday, you trespassed into the staff room. Gryffindor will lose two points for your troll-like recklessness—I would think that if Mr. Potter's head were not stuffed with cogon grass, he might remember that today is Saturday."

Saturday meant it was the day he had to serve detention in Snape's office.

Watching Snape's limping figure recede into the distance, Harry suddenly felt an urge to pull out his wand.

"He really does find every excuse possible to take points from Gryffindor, doesn't he?" Ron shrugged.

All the Gryffindor classmates had heard that Snape had deducted points because of Harry, but not one of them blamed him. Instead, they all looked at him sympathetically.

When it was time for Quidditch to begin, the students filed out of the Great Hall and headed to the Quidditch pitch.

Almost the entire school had turned up, along with some wizard parents from outside the school. The stands around the Quidditch pitch were packed full.

After Harry and his teammates changed into their red Gryffindor uniforms, Captain Oliver Wood walked up to him.

"Nervous, Potter?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

Of course he was not nervous. He had even made ample preparations.

"It's good to be nervous. I was the same when I played in my first Quidditch match." Wood seemed to be reciting from a script. "But—"

"Captain, he said he isn't nervous," the troublemaker Fred cut in first.

"We aren't either," George added immediately after.

"All right, lads—" Wood cleared his throat awkwardly.

Chaser Angelina Johnson suddenly said, "And ladies."

"Right, and ladies," Wood agreed.

Before he could continue, Fred cut him off again. "At this important moment—"

"The moment we have all been waiting for," George followed up.

With the two of them interrupting like that, the tension that had filled the team vanished at once.

Everyone laughed in relief. Harry was infected by the mood and laughed along with them.

"That's Oliver's speech from last year," Fred told Harry. "I heard Charlie say he used the same words the year before last too. It seems like it is the same script every year."

"Shut up, you two." Wood cleared his throat and shot them both a glare. "Things are different now. We have Potter now, and we will definitely claim the final victory!"

Madam Hooch's whistle blew. Wood said to them, "Time's up, mates. Let's kick Slytherin's arses!"

"Kick their arses!" everyone shouted together.

Harry was only excited for Quidditch. If he had to say he was nervous, there was perhaps just a tiny bit of it.

He took two deep breaths and strode out after Angelina.

"Look, Potter." Angelina suddenly pointed toward the Gryffindor section. "Look at that."

Following the direction Angelina pointed, Harry saw Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Neville holding up a huge bedsheet with the words "Potter Will Win" written on it.

A massive Gryffindor lion had been painted behind the lettering. It looked like the work of Dean Thomas, who was good at drawing.

Hermione had even cast a spell on the banner, making it shimmer in a riot of colors. It looked splendid.

Noticing Harry looking their way, his friends cupped their hands around their mouths and shouted his name together.

Harry raised a hand in response to his friends.

Friendship was wonderful, he thought.

"Listen, I expect everyone to play fairly and honestly." Madam Hooch stared without blinking at Slytherin House's captain, Marcus Flint, as though those words were aimed specifically at him.

Harry noticed that Flint looked like a troll, with crooked, protruding teeth. He did not look like anyone particularly intelligent.

Flint bared his teeth at Wood in a provocative grin.

Wood returned Flint's grin without either yielding or overbearing.

"You need to watch out for Flint," Angelina warned in a low voice. "Slytherin House has always played dirty in Quidditch. They have no sportsmanship whatsoever."

They would do anything to win—Harry understood that.

He might not understand Quidditch, but he understood Slytherin.

So yesterday, he had gone to the Crypt again and hauled out a sturdy suit of armor. After transforming it to fit him, he had worn it beneath his uniform.

Harry had never understood why the Crypt in the Dark Arts Defense Tower contained a pile of Knight Armor.

But that did not stop him from taking out a suit as protective gear. Perhaps at certain times, it could also be put to another interesting use.

Come on, let's hurt each other!

Marcus Flint had naturally noticed the little Gryffindor Seeker as well.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

Flint felt it was necessary to make The Boy Who Lived understand that Quidditch was not something one could play well on reputation alone.

Seeing Harry staring at him, Flint bared his protruding teeth and gave him a vicious grin.

What he had not expected was for the other boy to return an even more bloodthirsty smile.