The Devil's Whisper

Things were quite bad.

Neville had fallen off his broomstick.

In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was examining his injuries.

She pointed her wand at Neville and muttered a spell under her breath.

As if she felt Neville was beyond saving, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and moved toward the other beds.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." Neville said, his face slightly red.

He had indeed fallen, but only because he'd stumbled while landing—a flat-ground fall.

So it was just a sprained ankle.

According to Neville, up in the air, his broom had been picking up speed, and at one point his grip had gone weak, making him want to let go and drop from the sky.

But the posture Glenn had taught him locked his hands firmly in place, so even when Madam Hooch caught up, he hadn't fallen off the broom from losing his grip.

Since the injury was so minor, Madam Hooch didn't accompany him to the hospital wing. Instead, the one who came along was Glenn—the very person who'd taught Neville that flying technique.

According to Madam Hooch, this was his punishment.

"I feel a lot better, Glenn. You should head back first." Neville said, a little embarrassed.

In his view, this was really his own fault—no one had forced him to fly like that, and the problem wasn't even with riding the broom.

He'd just plain stumbled...

"It's fine. You're the patient. I don't mind sitting with you a while longer." Glenn said casually, taking a seat by the bed.

Hearing this, Neville felt a bit touched.

When you're sick, having a friend willing to endure boredom and sacrifice class time to keep you company is a rare thing.

Then he saw Glenn casually pick up the latest issue of the Daily Prophet from the hospital wing table, cross his legs, and start reading.

Cough—this wasn't slacking off.

Just as Madam Hooch had said, this was Glenn's punishment.

And all he was doing was willingly accepting it.

Sure enough, Gringotts had been robbed—this time it was clearly written in the paper.

The goblins remained stubborn, insisting nothing was missing, refusing any assistance in the investigation, and answering any inquiry about the incident with only four words: no comment.

Classic.

Still, it piqued Glenn's interest a little.

While he couldn't praise Gringotts' security measures, at least from the outside it looked somewhat impressive.

For someone to take such a big risk and break into Gringotts, it was probably for something pretty important.

And the time of the theft written in the paper happened to be right when he'd gone to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies.

Which meant he might have even brushed past the thief on the street...

Time ticked by, and Neville broke the silence.

"My brain's never been all that sharp," he said, watching the birds circling outside the window, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"My gran always says I'm not like my parents. I mean, I was born into a wizarding family, but compared to you, Hermione, and Harry, I don't seem special at all. You're all smarter than me."

"Yeah, I won't deny that." Glenn didn't look at him, just folded the newspaper on his own.

Hearing that, Neville's already-lowered head drooped even more.

"I knew it..."

"I won't deny that your brain isn't always sharp." Glenn cut Neville off and set the paper back in its place.

"But I don't think just anyone would dare to race a teacher on a broomstick in class, risking a fall to his death."

"Sure, Madam Hooch is going to give you an earful later, but I have to say—you're a qualified Gryffindor."

Hearing this, Neville smiled a little sheepishly.

Even though Glenn had reminded him again that he'd probably get scolded by the teacher later, he had to admit his mood had improved a lot.

Then he reached into his robe pocket—empty.

Neville's heart skipped a beat. To him, this was far more serious than the injury.

If his grandmother found out that the Remembrall he was supposed to use to remember things had been forgotten somewhere, he'd probably get a thorough scolding the next time he went home.

"Let's go, Glenn. I think I'm fine. I think my Remembrall fell on the Flying Lesson field." With that, Neville stood up to go look for it.

But soon, he sat back down with a look of surprise.

Because he found that the Remembrall had come to the hospital wing on its own.

More precisely, Madam Hooch had walked in with a limping Harry and Malfoy, followed by a stern-faced Professor McGonagall.

In her hand, she was holding a Remembrall.

At night, the Slytherin common room was filled with noise.

Almost all the Slytherin first-years were passionately discussing that afternoon's Flying Lesson.

The older students might not have cared much, but among the few classes the first-years had attended, this one was practically spectacular!

First came a chase between a Gryffindor student and the teacher, followed by a confrontation between Malfoy and the legendary Harry Potter, the one who defeated You-Know-Who.

And at the very end, that student named Glen Howard arrived late from the hospital wing, and with a single move, he completely outclassed everyone present.

To put it in plain terms, they couldn't even smell the dust falling off his broom!

Because of this, Madam Hooch was overjoyed. Not only did she award points to Slytherin, but she even asked if he was interested in joining the Quidditch Team.

She could go to the Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape, and request an exception to let him join the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

For a Hogwarts first-year, this was an incredibly big deal.

Especially for a house like Slytherin, which placed immense value on honor.

In fact, compared to the stereotype of valuing only blood purity, a love for victory was far more true to the real Slytherin.

Take tonight, for example. A steady stream of Slytherin first-years came to seek advice and build connections, each one hoping to leave a favorable impression on this newcomer who might join the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

And judging by the smiles on their faces as they left, they all felt satisfied with their conversations with Glen.

The girls whispered among themselves about the day's events, occasionally glancing toward the armchair by the fireplace, letting out a series of giggles.

"I told my father about you," Malfoy said, sitting down in the chair next to Glen.

"He told me not to oppose you, to try and get along with you... but I don't get it. You're only half-blood, grew up in an orphanage, and even your surname is a Muggle one. Why should I bother getting along with you?"

As he spoke, Malfoy's voice was still slow and deliberate, as if he didn't care.

But from the slight tremor in his voice, he wasn't as calm as he pretended to be.

During that afternoon's Flying Lesson, he had used Neville Longbottom's Remembrall to provoke Harry Potter, hoping to defeat The Boy Who Lived in front of all the students.

But instead, he had accidentally allowed Harry to pull off a perfectly spectacular catch.

He'd heard that the Head of Gryffindor had even made an exception to let a first-year like Harry join the Quidditch Team!

And now, Glen Howard was also rumored to be getting an exception to join the Slytherin Quidditch Team...

To be honest, Malfoy was completely rattled.

It made him lose his composure for a moment, coming over to say things that went against his father's instructions.

After venting, he came back to his senses and seemed to realize his words were inappropriate. He took a deep breath. "Sorry, I take back what I said. But I don't think I can do what my father asks. That's it, I have things to do."

With that, he stood up and started walking toward Crabbe and Goyle, who were nearby, planning to go find the caretaker, Filch.

"Are you interested in taking my place as a Slytherin Quidditch player?" Glen's voice was also slow and unhurried, but it rang in Malfoy's ears like a devil's whisper.

Malfoy froze on the spot.

After a long, brief silence, he sat back down in the armchair.

"You know, I've always trusted my father's judgment..."