He's Playing Mind Games with Me!

Although "seeing a ghost" was a fair description of what had just happened, Andrew's thesis was coming along remarkably well. If he hadn't made progress on his draft too, he might have thought he'd created something terrible.

But the night was not going to be peaceful. Just as Andrew leaned back, satisfied, and prepared to browse for an interesting book, Madam Pince made a distinctly displeased noise at the library entrance.

"Who's upset Moaning Myrtle this time?"

After catching that mutter, Andrew saw Madam Pince storm off. He had nothing else to do, so he gave up looking for a book and followed her with the other students hoping to see what was going on.

"Oh... my goodness..."

At a student's exclamation, Andrew noticed water pooling in the corridor. It had nearly reached the library. Madam Pince was waving her wand, making great swathes of filthy water vanish.

"Strange. I'm sure I turned the tap off again... Well, I suppose that ghost wasn't satisfied..."

As Madam Pince worked her way down the corridor, she finally stopped the spreading water. Andrew had nothing to do with this incident, but he still felt a little guilty. He picked up his bag early and went obediently back to his common room.

"Coo, coo..."

"Be quiet, Rose..."

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

A little more awake, he called out again, with just as little effect. Only then did he realize the hooting wasn't coming from his owl.

"Whose owl is that? Deal with it... Didn't we agree yesterday to go to the Owlery and make sure they wouldn't visit before eight? It's our first weekend!"

He mumbled, still half asleep. When no one claimed the owl, he got up and found four of them perched at the window, calling for attention.

"All right..."

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

Before long, everyone except Hughes had an owl at his bedside.

"Well, I can't complain now."

Andrew cheerfully untied the letter from the one that had come for him and unfolded it.

It was from the club—or rather, from Ham, who headed the smaller group within the club that Andrew had joined. Ham wrote that the upper-year students were going to Hogsmeade Village for the weekend. He made a point of explaining that it was a holiday village open only to upper-year students. They would bring Andrew back something to eat when they returned that afternoon, and Ham wished him an enjoyable weekend at Hogwarts.

"I heard you've taken an interest in Quidditch, too. I spoke to our house team captain, and you can watch them train. Just give them my name..."

He's playing mind games with me!

Andrew immediately saw what was wrong. If that was all Ham wanted to tell him, he could have done it last night instead of...

He glanced at the clock. It was only half past six.

Definitely deliberate!

What kind of person sends an owl with a letter before half past six on a weekend?!

How many new students wouldn't sleep in if they hadn't been warned?!

He asked what letters his roommates had received. They were much the same: their seniors in the club were off to Hogsmeade and would bring back food for them. If they needed anything in particular, they could write back and ask their seniors to buy it...

Even though Andrew knew Ham was manipulating him, he followed the others' example and wrote a very polite reply. He said he didn't need anything for now and would be sure to ask his esteemed senior at once if that changed.

"Why is yours different from ours, Andrew?"

"How come you got invited to watch the house team train?"

Once Andrew compared letters with them, nearly every roommate exclaimed in surprise. Andrew was taken aback. He could tell from the way the club was organized that Quidditch was special, but was it really that big a deal?

He didn't understand, but he had no intention of arguing. Instead, he decided to learn about Quidditch. If everyone liked it, he would have to act interested even if he wasn't...

Such is the plight of a grown-up wage slave...

"All right, since you're asking, I'll see if they'll let you come watch too. Just don't disrupt their training."

He added the request to his letter and entrusted it to the owl, which had made short work of its feed. A reply came back in no time.

It was more or less what he expected: they could come, but they could only watch. They weren't to ask questions or do anything else that might disrupt the training.

"That's the one..."

"Right, right..."

"And there's the Golden Snitch! Catching it ends the match and earns you a hundred and fifty points!"

After watching two hours of training, Andrew had a basic grasp of Quidditch: the rules, the number of players, the different balls, how the game was played, and even a great many ways to commit fouls.

Once his roommates were sure he genuinely didn't know the rules and wasn't pretending to tease them, they practically force-fed him explanations.

Andrew played the attentive listener as usual and committed the rules to memory.

Flying...

Like the others, he gazed longingly at the pitch, but his attention was entirely on the broomsticks. They looked graceful and magnificent.

Granted, some of the brooms were, according to his roommates, "old models, and poorly maintained at that." Andrew was still fascinated.

They could fly, and he could control the flight himself. Even if it required a broom, that was very, very magical.

Several possible uses sprang to mind. Those things looked incredibly useful...

Casting spells while riding a broom...

Escaping on a broom...

Making a temporary broom...

Using that—yes, the Undetectable Extension Charm—to carry a broom around...

These possibilities left Andrew looking every bit as excited as his roommates. Everyone thought the morning was going splendidly.

They were so absorbed that they even forgot breakfast.

But it didn't last. At about half past nine, a group of unwelcome visitors arrived at the Quidditch pitch: new students with miserable faces who clearly couldn't stand one another.

"The pitch's lawn needs tending... You'll get an extra day's use of the training ground next week."

After speaking with the Ravenclaw house team, a gray-haired witch began assigning the students their tasks.

"Goodness. Did they catch nearly half the first-years in a school?"

"Come on, let's go," Andrew said quietly. "I don't want them taking it out on us. Let them sort it out themselves."

The five of them slipped away. If they were going to enjoy the spectacle, they needed to keep a safe distance.

Before long, after returning to the common room to get something to eat, they learned what had happened.

The night before, portraits had reported the two inexperienced schools. Their students had discussed how to deal with each other right there in the corridor, and Mr. Filch and his cat had seized the chance to make a name for themselves.