After November arrived, the weather at Hogwarts turned bitterly cold almost overnight. Autumn had barely made itself known before the end of summer slipped away, and winter came, bringing the promise of snow.
Life was getting harder and harder for the Hogwarts students.
After the Halloween Feast incident, the professors had become noticeably stricter. The essays they assigned were often a foot or two long, and they put the struggling students through the wringer. At last, they had to face the fact that they were idiots. Writing essays was practically killing them.
The Hogwarts library saw an unprecedented surge in visitors, much to Madam Pince's fury. She was constantly having to deal with people who turned pages too loudly or ignored the library rules. She was in a foul mood twenty-five hours a day, so even Ezio, once a quiet, sensible good boy in her eyes who respected and hungered for knowledge, had become a little less adorable.
But Ezio, the one who had started it all, carried on as usual. In particular, after he single-handedly took down seven or eight Hogwarts seventh-year repeaters—dangerous students driven out of their minds by their crushing workloads—in the corridor outside the library, even those who resented him had to abandon the idea of ambushing him with a sack over his head and beating him up from behind.
The ones who had ambushed and ganged up on him with jinxes had their wands snapped and were hung upside down from the ceiling of a bathroom. Peeves excitedly snuck in carrying a dragon-dung scoop borrowed from the Herbology greenhouse. Vomiting, wailing, and screams of agony continued all afternoon. No one dared disturb them. In the end, they received treatment in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Word was that they had also drunk some kind of Forgetfulness Potion made from Swooping Evil venom, so they could forget the humiliating memories of that day.
As for Ezio, he got out of it with the reasonable excuse, "I was only defending myself. What happened after that was Peeves acting on his own." Snape symbolically took five points, and the matter was quietly swept under the rug.
Slytherin was still wicked as ever!
But people didn't apply that description to the other Slytherin students. Instead, it gradually became Ezio's personal label. He didn't usually cause trouble, but whenever something did involve him, things tended to go as badly as possible for everyone else—and end in a way that barely harmed him.
Before long, though, people forgot about the library incident, because once November arrived, a new round of Quidditch Matches was about to begin.
After several weeks of practice together, the new additions to each team were ready to play. Harry was passionate about Quidditch. He had been outstanding in Flying Class, and Madam Hooch, who was always strict with the young wizards, couldn't praise him enough. She even declared openly that Harry would definitely become a new pillar of the Slytherin Quidditch Team in his second year.
The only one who seemed unhappy about this was Snape. Harry's talent on a Flying Broomstick irritated him. Perhaps it was because James Potter had also been exceptionally talented at Quidditch, and Harry reminded Snape of that damn man. Maybe one night Snape even dreamed that Harry was a girl, Harry, and woke up laughing the next morning.
"Ezio, do you want to watch the Quidditch Match? Slytherin's playing Gryffindor today. I bet it'll be exciting."
Harry clutched a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, his eyes shining with excitement. "Next year, I'm definitely buying the newest, coolest broomstick. I can't wait to fly up into the sky."
"Then you could ride Buckbeak," Ezio said without looking up, still focused on the Potions notes in his hands. They were Snape's notes. He had read them at least three times, but still couldn't quite keep up with Snape's brilliant train of thought. It was too unconventional, too innovative, and incredibly hard to learn—but fascinating.
"That's a different feeling." Harry had ridden Buckbeak several times already. Honestly, even the latest Nimbus 2000 couldn't keep up with Buckbeak's speed. The Hippogriff wasn't particularly nimble in flight, but when it came to acceleration and top speed, the fastest Flying Broomsticks barely reached 160 kilometers per hour. They didn't even come close.
"It feels like freedom. When I'm on a broom, it's like I'm embracing the sky!"
Harry gestured dramatically.
"If you really want one, I'll give you a broom. I bought two, so you can have the spare."
Ezio had plenty of money, and whenever he bought necessities, he bought two of everything. Just like with his wand, he liked to be prepared.
"Aren't first-years not allowed to bring their own broomsticks?"
"I'm skipping ahead next year. Why are you bringing that up?" Ezio raised his eyes. He had already discussed it with the professors. He wouldn't be taking second year next school year; he'd jump straight to fourth year. His practical skills were more than good enough, but he still needed to hone his foundation in theory. Once he'd finished the fourth-year curriculum and solidified his theoretical knowledge, he could take the Ordinary Wizarding Levels in fifth year.
"Doesn't that mean we won't be in the same dorm anymore?" Harry was surprised, and a little envious. He couldn't study with the same incredible efficiency as Ezio. Partly, he wasn't as sharp, and partly, he couldn't study at an intense pace for twenty hours a day like a monk practicing asceticism.
"We'll keep the same dorm, but our classrooms will be different."
Ezio put down the notes and carefully packed them away. "Do you want the broom?"
"I kind of do..." Harry hesitated. "But I think I'll wait until next year. I'm not in much of a hurry to try it. Professor Snape seems to have a problem with me wanting to join the Quidditch team. Maybe he doesn't want me to neglect my studies for fun."
"I didn't know you and Snape had gotten so close. Have you called him 'Daddy' yet? I bet the moment you do, he'll buy you a broom, personally escort you onto the Quidditch team, and have everyone carry you around shouting, 'Long live the new King of Slytherin!'"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't have to put it like that to fool a kid. And I'm not a three-and-a-half-year-old toddler."
"Sure, sure. You're an eleven-and-a-half-year-old toddler." Ezio gave him a dismissive reply. "Actually, Snape's like this because of your dad. Your dad was a brilliant Quidditch player, so when Snape sees you're talented at it, he doesn't take it well. If you don't humor him, you can forget about joining the team next semester."
"Huh?" Harry looked blank for a moment.
"Didn't I tell you about this before?"
"Did you...?" Harry scratched his head. He couldn't quite remember. He had vivid memories of his mother, but perhaps because his father hadn't appeared in any of them—or because he had learned about his parents' past and realized his dad had been a bit of a menace at Hogwarts, always bullying people—good boy Harry instinctively kept his distance from him.
"There should be a Quidditch Cup or something from back then in the Trophy Room. Want to go take a look?"
"I thought you did nothing but read and practice magic," Harry said, teasing him. "Even the biggest bookworm in Ravenclaw isn't as hardworking as you."
"You mean Hermione? She'd be angry if she heard you say that. She'd bite you."
"I didn't say who I meant," Harry quickly protested.
Ezio laughed. "At least I visit Hagrid every now and then. I know the importance of balancing work and rest. If you don't unwind once in a while, your hair might fall out."
"Then let's go take a look!"
Before you continue