He's Messing with My Head!

Although what had just happened could only be described as bizarre, Andrew's essay went exceptionally smoothly—if he had not made some progress on the draft as well, he would have almost thought he had produced some trash.

But tonight was destined to be anything but peaceful. Just as Andrew, satisfied with his work, was about to stretch and look for an interesting book, Madam Pince made an extremely displeased sound at the library entrance.

"Who's gone and provoked Moaning Myrtle again?"

After hearing something roughly like that muttered, Andrew watched Madam Pince storm off. Since he had nothing better to do, he gave up on finding a book and followed along with the other students eager for a spectacle.

"Oh... my God..."

Only after one student gasped did Andrew realize there was already standing water in the corridor, and it had nearly spread to the library. Madam Pince was waving her wand, making great swathes of filthy water vanish with each motion.

Strange. I'm sure I turned the tap off again... Well, I suppose that ghost was still unhappy...

As Madam Pince advanced down the corridor, the filthy water was finally brought under control. Though Andrew had nothing to do with the incident, he still felt a little guilty. He picked up his schoolbag early and obediently returned to his common room.

"Coo..."

"Shut up, Rose..."

Andrew turned over and warned his owl, but it did no good.

A little more awake now, he called out again, but it was still useless—only then did he realize the sound was not coming from his owl.

"Whose owl is that? Deal with it—didn't we say yesterday to send them to the Owlery beforehand and keep them from visiting before eight? This is the first weekend!"

Half-awake and half-asleep, he muttered as he climbed out of bed when no one claimed the owl. Then he found four of them perched at the window, calling out.

"Fine..."

Andrew dug out some owl feed as he opened the window and let them in.

Very quickly, everyone except Hughes received one owl at their bedside.

"Well, nothing to complain about now."

Grinning, Andrew removed the letter from the owl looking for him and unfolded it.

The letter was from his club—Ham, the head of the smaller group within the club that had recruited him. He wrote to tell Andrew that the upper-year students were going to Hogsmeade Village that weekend—the upper-year had specifically explained that it was a resort village open only to upper-year students—and that they would bring him back some food when they returned that afternoon. He also wished him an enjoyable weekend at Hogwarts.

I heard you've taken an interest in Quidditch as well. I spoke to the captain of the House team over there. You can watch their training sessions—just give them my name...

He was messing with Andrew's head!

Andrew immediately noticed something was off—if the letter was only for those matters, Ham could have told them the night before instead of...

He glanced at the clock and found that it was only half past six.

No doubt about it. This was deliberate!

What normal person sent an owl with a letter before half past six on a weekend?!

Without advance notice, how many first-years would not sleep in?!

After asking about his roommates' letters, he found they were all more or less the same—their club seniors were going to Hogsmeade and planned to bring them back some food. If they had any special requests, they could reply and ask the seniors to buy things for them...

Though he knew they were deliberately setting him up, Andrew followed the others' example and wrote back politely, saying that he did not need anything for the moment and that if he needed anything, he would immediately ask their esteemed seniors for help, and so on...

"Why is yours different from ours, Andrew?"

"Why were you invited to watch the House team train?!"

After Andrew replied and compared notes with them, nearly all his roommates cried out in surprise. Andrew froze at once. Sure, he could tell from the club's structure that Quidditch was something special, but was it really that big of a deal?

He did not understand, but he had no intention of arguing. Instead, he planned to learn more about this so-called sport of Quidditch. If everyone liked it, then even if he was not interested, he had to pretend to be...

Such was the helplessness of an adult wage slave...

"All right. Since you want to, I'll ask and see whether we can go together—just don't disrupt their training."

After adding the request to his letter, he entrusted it to the owl with the impressive appetite. It did not take long for a reply to come back.

Just as he had expected, the request was approved. They could only watch, though—they could not ask questions or do anything else that might disrupt the rhythm of the training.

"That one..."

"Yes, yes..."

"And the Golden Snitch—catching it ends the match and earns one hundred and fifty points!"

After watching training for two hours, Andrew had gained a basic understanding of Quidditch: the number of players, the balls, the rules, and even a great many ways to break them.

Once his roommates confirmed that he truly did not know the rules rather than merely pretending to tease them, they practically dragged Andrew along and force-fed him information.

As always, Andrew played the role of a good listener and memorized the rules.

Flying...

Like everyone else, he looked eagerly at the pitch, but his attention was entirely on those flying broomsticks—elegant and magnificent.

All right, some of the brooms were, in his roommates' words, "old models that haven't been maintained properly," but Andrew was still deeply interested.

They could fly, and the rider could control the flight. Even if a broom was required, that was already incredibly magical.

Several uses immediately came to mind. The things looked extremely useful...

Casting spells while riding a broom...

Escaping for my life on a broom...

Creating a temporary broom...

Using that—right, the Undetectable Extension Charm—to carry a broom with me...

Those thoughts made Andrew look just as fanatical as his roommates, and everyone felt the atmosphere was perfect.

In such an enthusiastic mood, they even forgot to eat breakfast.

But the good times did not last. At around half past nine, a group of unwelcome visitors arrived at the Quidditch pitch: a group of first-years wearing miserable expressions yet looking down on one another.

"The grass on the Quidditch pitch needs tending... We'll make up one day's use of the training ground for you next week."

After a gray-haired witch spoke with the Ravenclaw House team, she began assigning tasks to those students.

"God. Did they catch half the first-years from two Houses...?"

"Come on, come on," Andrew said in a lowered voice. "I don't want them taking it out on us—let them sort it out themselves."

The five of them quietly slipped away. If you wanted to watch a spectacle, you had to stand somewhere safe.

Before long, after returning to the common room to fill their stomachs, they found out what had happened.

The night before, two inexperienced Houses had been reported by a painting—they had discussed in the corridor how to deal with each other, and Mr. Filch and his cat had made a name for themselves in a single battle.