Quidditch First Lesson, Itching Potion Recipe?

Afternoon, after the last class ended.

Tom piled all his first-year textbooks in front of Ron.

Ron flipped through the books, his eyes lighting up.

"Wow! Big brother, where did you get such complete notes?"

"Take tonight to copy all these notes into your own books," Tom ordered.

Tom's textbooks were secondhand, already containing some notes here and there, but the quality of student notes was generally uneven, with varying degrees of errors and omissions.

Conveniently, there was a Quirrell nearby.

Why not use such a good tool?

So he had ordered that former academic prodigy to help fill in the gaps and complete the notes.

With nearly perfect notes, Tom naturally wouldn't hoard them all to himself—how much Ron could learn from them was his own business.

"Big brother..." Ron's eyes now held only Tom.

During this time, he had taught him both physical training and magic.

From Tom, he seemed to feel genuine brotherly care, something he had never experienced from his own older brothers—at least not since he could remember.

This care, this kindness, would probably take a lifetime to repay.

"Study hard. If you want to excel, this is the shortcut," Tom said.

"Yes!" Ron nodded firmly.

["Friendly" +3 progress]

After parting with Ron, it was time for Quidditch.

Five minutes later...

In the Slytherin locker room at the Quidditch pitch.

Tom and Harry wore green robes.

Now that they had their own brooms, besides their regular classes, they naturally had to start participating in Quidditch team training.

"Tch~ Training hasn't even started yet, and they've already bought a Nimbus 2000. Truly, bad students have the most gear."

A passing Slytherin player curled his lips in dissatisfaction.

"Hm?" Harry frowned, immediately grabbing one end of his broom, ready to teach that ill-mannered fellow a lesson.

But before he could act, Marcus, the team captain, had already walked out and given the player a sharp knock on the back of the head.

After disciplining this guy who was undermining team unity, Marcus smiled apologetically to the two on behalf of his teammate.

"That kid's still young and doesn't know how to talk. Please don't mind him."

Tom naturally didn't care.

Though he appeared to be only eleven on the surface, his actual mental age was long past adulthood. Unless necessary, he wouldn't get angry over a casual insult.

At the same time, Marcus was sizing them up.

At the Sorting Ceremony, he had heard the Sorting Hat call Tom a "born Slytherin," so after the ceremony ended, he had made a point to inquire about the other's background. He knew Tom was just an orphan with no connections.

Yet not only had Professor McGonagall personally introduced him here, but he had also been gifted a "Nimbus 2001" that Marcus had never even heard of.

Though he didn't know the reason behind it, it was clear this orphan was far from ordinary—at least not as ordinary as he seemed.

"So..." Harry broke the silence first. "What do we learn on the first day?"

He was itching to get started.

Compared to sitting in class, stretching his limbs suited his personality better.

He'd heard that Beater was the most intense position in Quidditch. He wondered just how intense it was.

His hands were itching.

"Brewing potions," Marcus said slowly.

"Potions?"

As Harry looked on in confusion, Marcus pulled out several fine cauldrons from the back of the locker room, along with a few jars of common herbs.

"It's still early. There are two hours left until evening activities end. In that time, I'll teach you two to brew Itching Potion and Diarrhea Potion."

As he spoke, Marcus filled the cauldrons with the Aguamenti Charm, then sorted the already-prepared herbs and sprinkled them into the cauldrons, ready to begin the demonstration.

"?"

"?"

A large question mark appeared over both Harry's and Tom's heads.

Weren't they here to learn Beating?

Bring out the Bludgers.

"What do you think is the most important purpose of playing Quidditch?" Marcus asked the two while brewing potions.

"Purpose? Glory, of course." Harry answered without a second thought.

He'd recently heard that his father had been an excellent Seeker for Gryffindor, and his name was still hanging in the school corridors.

He wanted to be hung on the wall after he died too, together with Big Brother, Third Brother, and Fourth Brother.

"You could say that, but the core issue is still... winning." Marcus's lips curled slightly—he liked this kind of competitive spirit.

"No matter what means you use, whether it's winning head-on or playing dirty with underhanded tricks... as long as you win, it's fine.

If you get caught fouling, that means you're not good enough, and if you lose, there's no helping it—just take the loss."

Though Marcus's speech was quite astonishing and didn't sound like something a proper student would say, Tom understood.

Because in the original story, Marcus had teamed up with Draco to dress as Dementors and scare Harry during his match, trying to make him fall from the sky.

This had always made Tom think Marcus was a despicable captain who would stop at nothing to win, but after today's interaction, he seemed different from what Tom had imagined.

The Marcus before him would mediate team relationships and personally teach underhanded tactics—in a way... he really was a competent captain.

"Captain, you're no hero, but..." Harry hesitated for a moment, then continued, "I can at least call you a villain."

Only those who played dirty and could take a loss deserved to be called villains; those who couldn't take a loss were just pure clowns.

"As expected of a student who could join my Slytherin—you catch on fast." Marcus smiled.

"Remember this, watch closely and learn well. The keys I'm teaching aren't recorded in any textbook—they're secret potion recipes passed down through generations of our Slytherin Quidditch team."

At Hogwarts, whether in textbooks or the library, the potion recipes taught were usually meant for killing, saving, flying, or burrowing—always functional.

Potions like the ones Marcus was teaching were mainly for pranks, making victims vomit and feel utterly uncomfortable.

These recipes were more like something you'd find at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

It's just that the shop didn't exist yet.

"I see, so that's the recipe..."

Tom watched the potion brewing with full concentration, memorizing every step.

These tricks might come in handy later at the Dueling Club.

As for Harry beside him, he was yawning nonstop, barely staying awake.

It wasn't that he didn't want to study—he just couldn't help dozing off whenever he saw a book, and he didn't know why.

Hogwarts Castle.

Daphne stood by the window in the corridor, gazing into the distance toward the Quidditch pitch.

"Tom must be exhausted from training."

Dealing with the pure-blood girls in her dormitory always took a lot of energy, so Daphne often found excuses to be alone whenever she could.

The more tired she got from interacting with those around her, the more she cherished the feeling of being with Tom.

But Tom was usually very busy, so Daphne had to pick her moments to chat with him.

"Can I find a reason to talk to Tom more often?" Daphne's little head was deep in thought.