Someone Was Playing Tug-of-War with Harry?

The next morning dawned clear and cold, the sort of weather that was perfect for sleeping in.

If he could, Glenn would have liked to sleep straight through until noon.

Unfortunately, the commotion outside his door forced him to wake from his sweet dreams.

At times like this, Glenn really wanted to remind the students outside of Hogwarts' motto: Do Not Disturb the Sleeping Dragon.

But dragons weren't the only ones who deserved not to be disturbed.

Just a little joke. He wasn't actually going to do that—it was just a bit of morning grumpiness over having to leave his warm, soft four-poster bed.

After lingering in bed for a little while, Glenn got up and got dressed and washed up.

"Oh, Glenn, I didn't expect you to be up so early on a Saturday," Blaise said in surprise, pausing his conversation with Theodore.

Looking at the piles of banners and magical cannons, and the rowdy crowd filling the Slytherin Common Room, Glenn fell silent.

"Yeah, I didn't expect it either."

"Can't be helped. Today's the first Quidditch Match of the school year for Slytherin," Theodore Nott chimed in.

He was a tall, thin boy with a somewhat cold air about him, giving the impression of being sickly. He usually didn't talk much or enjoy socializing.

But perhaps because there was a Quidditch Match today, he seemed a little excited too.

Seeing that, Glenn decided not to spoil their fun, though he was still a little annoyed at having to get up early on the weekend. After chatting with them for a while, he found an empty chair and sat down by himself.

He wasn't particularly interested in Quidditch, but there was no denying that most students loved the sport.

The Common Room had never been this lively since the start of term.

In theory, this room belonged to all Slytherin students from first to seventh year.

But with different class schedules and personal habits, and with students in third year and above being allowed to visit Hogsmeade—and more inclined to go there to relax—the Slytherin Common Room hadn't gathered even half its students at once since the school year began.

But today, it was no exaggeration to say that more than ninety percent of Slytherin students had gathered in the Common Room.

If he'd gotten up any later, even the chair he was sitting on might have been taken.

Glenn poured himself a cup of warm water and glanced around the Common Room.

The students fell into three broad groups: those chatting excitedly with the Quidditch players; those talking among themselves as they prepared cheering gear; and those discussing how to make the victory speech as scathing as possible.

The only exception was perhaps Gemma Farley, the female prefect, sitting by the fireplace with a book.

She didn't seem interested in the lively discussion of Quidditch around her. Her expression was cool, and she hadn't even looked up.

Still, if the scene descended into unexpected chaos, she would probably be closing her book.

It had to be said that, in a way, everyone knew their role.

Amid the hubbub, Malfoy smiled as he wrapped up his conversation with the current captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

When he spotted Glenn sitting alone in a corner, Malfoy waved to his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, telling them to leave for a moment. Then he walked over himself.

"From the looks of it, you're not exactly hoping Slytherin wins?" Glenn said after sizing Malfoy up.

At the astonishing remark, Malfoy frowned, looking extremely displeased.

But after glancing around and seeing that no one was paying attention to the little corner, he relaxed his expression.

"Just this time," he said quietly, sitting down beside him.

Sometimes Malfoy felt that Glenn stole the spotlight from him, and he didn't particularly like the classmate he'd fallen out with at the start of term.

But on this matter, Glenn really was the only person he could talk to.

After all, at the moment, only Glenn, Professor Snape, and Madam Hooch knew that he also wanted to join the Quidditch Team as a first-year, just like Harry Potter.

As for Madam Hooch, Malfoy had already proved his flying ability to her.

Now all he needed was approval from Professor Snape, the Slytherin Head of House.

Much as he hated to admit it, if Gryffindor's secret weapon—Harry Potter—lost this match, Snape would very likely turn down his application.

First, there'd be no need. If the team could win, why change the lineup?

Second, even the "Chosen One," Harry Potter, who was clearly said in the books to have defeated Voldemort, would have lost. Wouldn't that only prove that making an exception for a first-year to join the Quidditch Team was pointless?

If there hadn't been much hope, Malfoy would have sincerely wished for Slytherin to win and claim an eighth consecutive victory.

But the opportunity was right there in front of him, like a delicious steak laid before someone who'd been starving for a long time. It was hard not to be tempted.

"One loss doesn't mean anything. Once I'm on the team, I'll win back what Slytherin lost," Malfoy murmured, watching the Quidditch players bask in the attention.

By eleven in the morning, nearly everyone in the school had arrived, except the headmaster. They were there to watch the match. Many people held telescopes to get a better view, and the Stands were packed.

At the very top, Gryffindor students had hung an enormous banner that read, "Potter Will Win." Someone had also painted a lifelike lion on it.

Facing them sat Slytherin.

They had hung a banner of their own, with the words "Slytherin's Eighth Consecutive Championship" emblazoned across it.

Below that, they'd listed the scores from the previous seven matches—and Slytherin had beaten Gryffindor almost every time.

In this tense atmosphere, the players took to the field one after another amid cheers, greeted by the whole school.

Madam Hooch's silver whistle rang out.

Fifteen broomsticks shot into the air over the Quidditch pitch, becoming tiny black dots in the blink of an eye.

The students in the Stands almost all rose to their feet, looking up and straining to make out the players from each team. Every so often, they cried out in response to the action...

But to be honest, Glenn didn't know a thing about the Transylvanian Tackle, the Plumpton Pass, or the Wronski Feint described in the books...

He had just one question: if the Seeker could earn a hundred and fifty points by catching the Golden Snitch and end the match immediately, why not just catch the Golden Snitch?

Ahem. It might sound like a pointless question, but that was genuinely how Glenn saw it.

While everyone else watched the players' every move with bated breath, he turned his gaze toward a secluded corner of the sky.

Through Revelio, the world looked dim. A ball with transparent wings darted around the vast Quidditch pitch like a golden streak of light.

It stood out unmistakably.

"Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor has snatched the Quaffle! What an outstanding Chaser that girl is—and she's a real looker, too..."

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The commentary from the stands and the cheers from the spectators blended together.

Unless something unexpected happened, the match wouldn't end until someone spotted the Golden Snitch.

Until then, Glenn would probably have to sit here, bored, watching that golden ball fly back and forth...

At the thought, Glenn couldn't help yawning.

But just as he was about to switch off Revelio and take a quick nap, something unexpected happened.

Someone was playing tug-of-war with Harry!