The Devil's Whisper

Things were bad.

Neville had fallen off his broomstick.

In the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey was examining his injuries.

She pointed her wand at Neville and murmured a spell.

Apparently deciding that Neville was beyond saving, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and moved on to the other beds.

"Does it hurt?"

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

He had indeed fallen, but only because he'd lost his footing while landing. He'd simply taken a tumble on level ground.

So all he'd done was sprain his ankle.

According to Neville, while he'd been up in the air, the broomstick had gone faster and faster. For a moment, his hands had gone weak, and he'd wanted to let go and fall from the sky.

But the posture Glenn had taught him had locked his hands firmly in place. As a result, he hadn't fallen off his broomstick from fear, not even before Madam Hooch caught up with him.

Because his injuries were so minor, Madam Hooch hadn't accompanied him to the Hospital Wing. Instead, Glenn, who'd taught Neville that way of flying, had come along.

According to Madam Hooch, this was his punishment.

"I feel a lot better, Glenn. You can go back," Neville said, a little embarrassed.

As far as he was concerned, it was really his own fault. No one had made him fly like that, and besides, the problem hadn't been with riding a broomstick.

He'd simply lost his footing...

"It's all right. You're the patient. I don't mind keeping you company a little longer." Glenn sat down beside the bed as naturally as could be.

Hearing this, Neville felt touched.

When you were sick, it was rare to have a friend who didn't mind being bored and sacrificed class time to sit with you.

Then he saw Glenn casually pick up the latest issue of the Daily Prophet from the Hospital Wing and cross his legs as he started reading.

Ahem, he wasn't slacking off.

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

All he was doing was willingly accepting it.

Sure enough, Gringotts had been robbed—and this time, the newspaper said so in plain terms.

The Goblins remained stubborn, repeatedly insisting that nothing had been taken and refusing all investigative assistance. Any questions about the incident received the same four words: "No comment."

Classic.

Still, the news piqued Glenn's interest.

He didn't think much of Gringotts' security measures, but from the outside, at least, the place looked the part.

Anyone willing to take such a huge risk to steal something from Gringotts was probably after something important.

Besides, the time of the theft listed in the paper coincided with the period when he'd gone to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies.

In other words, he might even have crossed paths with the thief on the way...

As time passed, Neville broke the silence.

"I've never been very clever," he said ruefully, gazing at the birds circling outside the window.

"My grandma always says I'm nothing like my parents. I mean, I was born into a wizarding family, but compared to you, Hermione, and Harry, there's nothing special about me. You're all smarter than I am."

"Yes, I won't deny it." Glenn didn't look at him. He simply closed the newspaper.

At that answer, Neville lowered his already bowed head even further.

"I knew it..."

"I won't deny that you can be a bit slow sometimes," Glenn cut him off, putting the newspaper back where it had been.

"But I don't think just anyone would dare risk falling to their death in class to race a teacher on a broomstick."

"Madam Hooch will definitely reprimand you afterward, but I have to say, you're a proper Gryffindor."

Hearing this, Neville smiled a little sheepishly.

Though Glenn had reminded him once again that a teacher might reprimand him, he had to admit that he felt a lot better.

Then he felt inside his robe pocket—nothing.

Neville's heart sank. To him, this was far more serious than getting hurt.

If his grandma found out that he'd forgotten where he'd left the Remembrall she'd given him to keep him from forgetting things, she'd give him a serious earful the next time he went home.

"Come on, Glenn. I feel fine now. I think I left my Remembrall on the Flying Lesson grounds." Neville got to his feet, ready to go back and look for it.

But then he sat back down, his face full of shock.

He'd noticed that the Remembrall had made its way into the Hospital Wing on its own.

More precisely, Madam Hooch had brought it in, accompanied by a limping Harry and Malfoy. Professor McGonagall followed behind them, looking stern.

And Madam Hooch was holding a Remembrall.

That evening, the Slytherin Common Room was filled with noise.

Almost every Slytherin first-year was enthusiastically discussing that afternoon's Flying Lesson.

The older students might not care about it, but among the few classes the first-years had taken, this one had been spectacular!

First came a chase between a Gryffindor student and a teacher, followed by a showdown between Malfoy and Harry Potter, the legendary Boy Who Lived.

And at the very end, a student named Glenn Howard had arrived late from the Hospital Wing, only to leave everyone else in the dust the moment he took off.

To put it simply, they couldn't even smell the dust falling off his broomsticks!

Madam Hooch had been delighted. She'd not only awarded Slytherin points, but had also asked if he was interested in joining the Quidditch Team.

She could ask Slytherin's Head of House, Professor Snape, to make an exception and let him join the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

For a Hogwarts first-year, this was an extraordinary honor.

Especially for a house like Slytherin, which valued its reputation so highly.

In fact, rather than the stereotype that Slytherin cared only about blood status, valuing victory was closer to the truth.

That evening, Slytherin first-years came to seek his advice and build a rapport with him in an endless stream. Everyone wanted to make a friendly impression on the newcomer who might join the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

Judging from the smiles on their faces as they left, they all seemed pleased with their conversations with Glenn.

The girls whispered about what had happened that day, occasionally glancing at the armchair beside the fireplace and giggling.

"I told my father about you." Malfoy sat down beside Glenn.

"He said I wasn't to pick a fight with you and that I should try to get along with you... But I don't understand. You're only a Half-blood, you 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 tone remained unhurried, as if he didn't care.

But his voice trembled slightly, betraying how little he resembled the calm person he was trying to appear to be.

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

Instead, he'd accidentally given Harry the chance to pull off an exceptionally impressive rescue.

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

And now, he'd also heard that Glenn Howard was to be admitted to the Slytherin Quidditch Team as an exception...

To be honest, Malfoy was furious.

He'd lost his head for a moment and come over to say things that went against his father's instructions.

After venting, he came to his senses and seemed to realize that what he'd said was inappropriate. He took a deep breath. "Sorry. I apologize for what I said just now, but I don't think I can do what my father asked. That's that. I have things to do."

With that, he started to get up and head toward Goyle and Crabbe, who were about to look for the caretaker, Filch.

"Would you be interested in taking my place as a Slytherin Quidditch player?" Glenn's voice was unhurried too, but it sounded like a devil whispering in Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy froze in place.

After a silence that felt both long and short, he sat back down in the armchair.

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