The Quidditch Pitch

Brian's conversation with the two Mr. Weasleys was cut short by a roar from far away.

"Fred, George! What are you dawdling for? Get over here! The news that Harry's joined the team is out-we have to train twice as hard! Even the slightest lapse could cost us the House Cup!"

Brian looked toward the far end of the Entrance Hall. A boy was waving there, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a fairly tall build. He was probably an older student, and his voice was exceptionally loud-far more powerful than the horn on Brian's secondhand car.

Fred covered his ears in agony.

"Can't Oliver wait even a minute anymore? We have three official practices a week! Harry joining has clearly driven him completely mad.

"He's completely forgotten he has his O.W.L. exams this year, hasn't he? Ah, sir, that loudmouth is Oliver Wood, an outstanding public speaker."

"If you ask me, Oliver could drop out right now and run for Minister for Magic. Those endless speeches he gives us before every practice and match are every bit as good as Fudge's."

George offered his fair assessment.

"If anyone on the team suddenly goes deaf one day, Oliver will definitely be responsible."

Brian noticed that Mr. Oliver Wood was approaching. Sparks seemed to flicker in his eyes, ready to burst into flames at any moment and set Hogwarts alight.

He was certain even the November wind would yield to this gentleman's heat.

He even began to suspect the twins' red hair had been dyed with the flames Mr. Wood breathed when angry. Why else would it be so striking?

"You'd better get running, gentlemen. I hope practice goes well today. Remember to stay safe."

Brian saw the twins off, watching them leave as he planned to find time for a Quidditch match once he had settled in.

He wasn't particularly interested in ball sports. Perhaps Quidditch would be an exception; watching it in person ought to give him a better sense of its appeal.

The Hogwarts house-elves had explained the basic rules of this high-risk wizarding sport to him the previous night.

A standard Quidditch team consisted of one Keeper, one Seeker, two Beaters, and three Chasers. Each had their own duties involving the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch.

Whichever team's Seeker caught the Golden Snitch first earned their team a hundred and fifty points and brought the match to an end.

Brian couldn't understand why the Golden Snitch existed-a hundred and fifty points was far too much compared with the ten points awarded for a goal. The scoring made no sense at all. It ought to be changed to fifty.

But the Golden Snitch was worth a hundred and fifty points.

That gave Seekers an exceptionally prestigious position, but it also exposed them to greater danger.

If a malicious player wanted to wreck the opposing team, the likeliest target would be their Seeker-and wizards had far more underhanded methods at their disposal than Muggles.

Perhaps Quidditch Seekers carry silver needles around and test everything they eat for poison first, Brian thought.

But he soon stopped thinking about that-the Great Hall at Hogwarts had not disappointed him in the slightest. Even the most lavishly decorated mansion he had ever seen couldn't hold a candle to it.

Everything gleamed. Expensive gems were set thickly into the lamp posts, while silver plates and gold goblets sat casually on the tables as decorations, as though they cost nothing.

Looking up, Brian saw soft white clouds drifting above the Great Hall, with countless ever-burning candles dotted across the blue sky. He had never imagined such a combination. He had now witnessed magic's utter disregard for reason.

Four long, solid-wood tables stood evenly spaced in the magnificent hall, with another table on a raised platform at the front. He watched a student say something to the empty plates and bowls before them, and steaming food appeared out of thin air. It was extraordinary.

Since it was so early, fewer than ten students and staff were present altogether. Hagrid wasn't there-Brian reached that conclusion because none of the humans currently in the hall stood over three meters tall.

But that didn't matter. His empty stomach desperately needed a delicious breakfast. Brian spotted another redheaded student, a tall boy eating a sandwich with a book in his hands and an elaborate badge pinned to his chest.

Just as Brian was about to ask the student whether his surname was Weasley too, he noticed a dignified woman at the head table waving him over.

She wore green robes, her hat sat perfectly straight, and her glasses were polished to a shine. The barely perceptible smile on her face somehow brought the word "standards" to mind.

A woman who looked very mathematical-yes, mathematical-rigorous, precise, and intolerant of errors. Brian immediately knew who she was. Once again, he thanked the all-knowing Hogwarts house-elves.

"Chet Brian. It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor McGonagall." He walked briskly over, introduced himself politely, and took a seat.

Professor McGonagall seemed quite pleased with the special care Brian had taken over his hair and robes that morning. Her smile deepened.

"Likewise, Mr. Brian. I received a letter from Dumbledore first thing this morning-about your joining us.

"By this afternoon, all the students will know the library has a new librarian. Your portrait will be displayed prominently on the noticeboards in all four house common rooms."

"Wonderful. That means I can spend the time I would have used introducing myself on learning the students' names instead," Brian said with a smile. "But what's this about my portrait? Who painted it?"

He had only spent one night at Hogwarts. Who had painted him, and when? He didn't mind having his portrait painted; he was simply curious.

As he asked, Brian noticed a menu for the day on the table. The breakfast section listed more than a dozen offerings, including pumpkin juice, cereal with milk, and Yorkshire pudding.

He tried quietly saying "pumpkin juice." The next instant, his goblet filled with sweet, enticing juice, right to the brim. One more milliliter would have spilled onto the table.

Brian hurriedly leaned forward and drank some. The hot pumpkin juice entered his stomach, driving away the chill and warming him all over.

He heard Professor McGonagall remind him, "Remember to specify a quantity when ordering, or the house-elves will fill your dishes by default."

"A very timely warning, Professor," Brian said gratefully. He had been about to order everything on the menu. A moment later, he would have had no need to think about lunch or dinner.

"As for who painted your portrait, perhaps you could try guessing?" Professor McGonagall said mysteriously. "So far, none of the staff have managed to get the right answer within their first three guesses."

"Then I'll guess the house-elves," Brian said without hesitation. He had just enjoyed their service a moment earlier, and he thought they would have had plenty of time to paint his portrait while he slept.

"Incorrect." Professor McGonagall shook her head with pursed lips, waiting expectantly for his second guess.

Brian blinked and thought for a while before saying, "The parchment contract?"

"That was my first guess at the time too," Professor McGonagall said, smiling.

"Ah, this really is a bit difficult... Surely it can't be that gargoyle," Brian said casually. "He looks rather dim, but he does seem to have some intelligence?"

Dumbledore had told him the previous day that if he wanted to enter the Headmaster's Office, he only had to say "mead" to the statue outside. They had drunk quite a lot of mead the previous night, so he remembered that especially well.

"Oh! Correct!" Professor McGonagall said in surprise. "You've broken the record, Brian!"

"Wow. I'm honored."

Brian hadn't expected the answer to really be that ugly, dim-looking stone monster-though he did remember that the gargoyle had hands.

He said sincerely, "The next time I see Mr. Gargoyle, I'll apologize for underestimating him. At Hogwarts, not even a stone should be taken lightly."

Afterward, Professor McGonagall spoke with him at length about the day-to-day running of Hogwarts. When Brian asked why the other professors hadn't come to eat, she explained:

"The students need some space to make noise freely.

"Taking their feelings into account, we decided to avoid breakfast in the Great Hall whenever possible. Students often receive letters and presents by owl in the morning, and having a crowd of professors present makes them afraid to share their happiness.

"But we can't leave them entirely unattended, either-so the four Heads of House take turns: myself, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout.

"There are always times when students urgently need help. We must make sure they have someone to turn to."

Professor McGonagall really was impressive. Her words were full of respect and care for the students, and Brian found his sense of belonging at Hogwarts steadily growing as they talked.

When she learned that Brian was looking for Hagrid, she said with absolute certainty:

"Hagrid is at the Quidditch training ground. He's responsible for defrosting the brooms. Besides, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team is practicing today, so he's probably hiding in some corner, watching Harry."

"Harry... Some students mentioned him to me earlier. A new member? What does he do on the team?" Brian asked curiously, impressed by how well McGonagall understood Hagrid.

"Yes-Harry Potter. The Seeker I discovered for Gryffindor. His main responsibility is to give the other teams one fright after another."

Professor McGonagall became a different person once the conversation turned to Quidditch. Her face lit up as she declared confidently:

"Eleven in the morning on the ninth, Gryffindor against Slytherin. Then you'll see what Harry can do!"

"If I'm free, I'll definitely come and cheer for Gryffindor," Brian promised.

"Aren't you considering supporting Slytherin?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"I don't know anyone in Slytherin. But I know the Weasley brothers, Oliver Wood, and you from Gryffindor," Brian said as though it were obvious.

Professor McGonagall was delighted. She patted Brian warmly on the shoulder. "Gryffindor won't disappoint you. If you can return to Hogwarts before three this afternoon, remember to come to the staffroom for a delicious afternoon tea."

After breakfast, Brian followed Professor McGonagall's directions and found Hagrid beside a pillar at the Quidditch Pitch, just as he had hoped.

He spotted the furtive giant in his moleskin coat at once. Hagrid's hair and beard almost merged into one tangled mass of coarse curls.

Hagrid was watching a small, skinny boy on a broom above the pitch with such intense concentration that he never noticed someone had come up behind him.

Brian cleared his throat to get his attention, but it didn't work. Hagrid continued to ignore him, so he had to walk around that solid back and stand in front of him.

"Hagrid? Ah, hello, I'm Chet Brian. Dumbledore sent me to... Why are you crying?!"

Indeed, the burly giant's eyes were swimming with tears, his nose was running, and his eyes were red-whether from the wind or crying, Brian couldn't tell. He hurriedly handed over the tissues he carried.

"I-I can't help it!"

Hagrid took the tissues and wiped his tears hard, but no sooner had the old tears gone than fresh ones came rushing out.

Sobbing, he pointed at the sky and spoke in fits and starts:

"Good to-meet you, Brian. Dumbledore-sent me-a letter. You're just in time... Look, that boy, Harry. He's so much like his father-the way he flies, he's just like James!"

"Ah, yes, exactly alike. Have another tissue," Brian said obligingly.

Judging by appearances alone, Hagrid looked every inch a warrior who would tear a wild beast apart at the slightest provocation. But sobbing in such a mess, he really resembled... a vegetarian bear that had gone hungry for an entire year?

By the time every tissue Brian carried had been used up, he and Hagrid had naturally become friends.

Hagrid finally calmed down. When he wasn't booming at the top of his lungs, he actually looked rather shy.

"Sorry, Brian. I got a bit carried away... And it's our first meeting... I hope I didn't frighten you," Hagrid said awkwardly, sitting cross-legged on the grass.

Brian was sitting on the grass too, looking up at the Gryffindor Quidditch players flying back and forth.

"It's all right, Hagrid. Thanks to you, I now know Hogwarts has a brave, kind boy named Harry Potter."

Once Hagrid's emotions had overflowed, he hadn't been able to stop himself. In a very muddled fashion, he had told every story he could remember from that term about Gryffindor's Seeker, Harry Potter.

Brian had picked out a few key events.

Harry Potter had defeated the immensely powerful You-Know-Who as a newborn baby; he was a first-year student, yet the youngest Quidditch Seeker in a century; he stood a meter and forty centimeters tall, yet dared to ride a mountain troll over four meters high.

A boy with many glorious accomplishments.

But if, as Hagrid claimed, ninety-nine percent of the wizarding world knew Harry Potter and placed great hopes in him, Brian could hardly imagine how much pressure that boy was under.

Brian watched the small, bespectacled boy repeatedly practicing rapid ascents with concern. "Hagrid, does Mr. Potter ever complain to you about feeling under a lot of pressure?"

"Never," Hagrid said without hesitation. "Harry isn't someone pressure can defeat. It'll only push him higher and farther!"

"Perhaps you could ask him more about that. Remember, he's only eleven," Brian emphasized.

"Er... I will. But don't worry. He's James and Lily's son. He defeated You-Know-Who not long after he was born." Hagrid scratched his head.

Brian finally couldn't help asking, "Who exactly is You-Know-Who? Doesn't he have a real name?"

The question made Hagrid jerk in fright. He shuddered and avoided Brian's gaze.

"I... I can't say... Brian. It's not that I don't trust you... Dumbledore trusts you, so I trust you too... I don't dare... Don't go asking anyone else that question, either. Everyone's afraid of You-Know-Who."

Seeing him like that, Brian couldn't bear to press him.

By then, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team's morning practice seemed almost over. He saw the student named Wood gather everyone together and begin loudly lecturing them.

"Angelina-you're still not leaning low enough when you turn! Katie-your passes are so weak they might as well be tickling people!

"Alicia-you're positioning yourself too far back when you help defend! Fred-you're hitting too late! George-the opposite, you're swinging too early. Think harder about whether there's a better angle for your swing!

"Harry-great improvement, but you're still getting distracted by the Bludgers. You can trust your teammates completely! Me-I actually hesitated for a moment when blocking a shot with my head!!

"Let's hear it, then. How are you going to fix your faults? Well? No one? Then I'll go first-from now on, I'll block every shot in practice with my head!"

While Brian marveled at how ruthless Wood was toward himself, he suddenly noticed something very wrong out of the corner of his eye-the tightly closed leather trunk on the grass had somehow opened a crack.

By the time he focused on the trunk, it was completely open. He saw a Bludger break free of its straps with ease and hurtle straight toward the students in the sky, who were concentrating on reflecting on their mistakes!

Brian sprang up from the ground. He wanted to shout a warning to the children, but the Bludger was too fast-in half a breath, it had already covered half the distance. Its target was the back of the girl named Angelina's head!

How heavy was a Bludger? Brian didn't know. He only knew it was made of iron, and that once it picked up speed, it could easily smash wood-and human bones!

He had to stop that Bludger-right, magic, Hagrid!

But just as Brian was about to ask Hagrid to draw his wand, the Bludger accelerated again. It surged forward, leaving only half an arm's length between it and the back of the girl's head. There was no time to call Hagrid!

In that instant, Brian truly understood that a vibrant life was about to be snuffed out that morning, in midair, right before his eyes!

No! I won't allow it! I have to do something!

He needed enough time. Yes, if time could slow down enough for me to move freely-as Brian thought this, he felt everything around him slow tens of thousands of times-or if some power could control... no, destroy that damned Bludger...

The instant the thought of destroying the Bludger entered his mind, Brian keenly noticed something strange happening to his body-he was sweating. He was actually sweating in Britain's icy November wind!

The birthmark on his chest felt as hot as a blazing fire. An unfamiliar power seemed to be awakening inside him, while another, familiar power tried to keep his body calm.

The two powers clashed violently, neither willing to yield. His body became their battlefield.

Dazed, Brian felt as though half his body lay in a volcano while the other half was submerged in a bone-chilling pool. Instinctively, he tried to groan in pain, but the intense swelling sensation prevented him from opening his mouth. He could only swallow the muffled sound.

Perhaps I really am going to turn into fireworks, he thought.

With that realization, Brian hovered in a desperate stalemate. Without him noticing, time began to flow again. He saw the Bludger draw closer to the back of the girl's head-only three fists away!

"No! I'm going to save her!" Brian gave a soundless cry with all his strength. He heard something shatter.

He felt one of the powers inside him suddenly relent, as though submitting to his wish, allowing the other power to invade its former territory.

Brian heard his blood rejoice. He realized it was the unfamiliar power that had remained-

It cheered loudly, like soldiers eager for battle, shouting that it would give everything for him. He decisively ordered those soldiers to attack at once!

Everything fell silent.

An immense, invisible surge of magic poured from Brian's body, crossed the space between them, and engulfed the Bludger just before it could strike!

It froze in midair, then twisted violently. The regular markings on its surface became crooked and distorted, as though some force were pulling it in every direction at once!

At last, the Bludger could no longer withstand the pressure-

Bang!!!

A sharp explosion rang out above the Quidditch Pitch.

"Aah-!" The girls screamed.

Brian saw the Gryffindor players scatter in confusion, all shooting far away from the center of the explosion on their brooms.

The only one who managed to stay composed was the small, skinny Seeker-Harry. He quickly calmed down and climbed higher, trying to find the source of the explosion.

"It's all right... It's all right now..."

Brian exhaled heavily and lowered his head, murmuring.

He felt the soldiers he had sent out return triumphantly to his body after completing their mission, but his boiling blood had not yet fully settled.

To his surprise, he discovered tiny firefly-like lights drifting around his body, barely visible in the sunlight. For some reason, a wave of sadness suddenly filled his heart.

Brian didn't understand why. He stood frozen for a long while before he finally heard Hagrid's voice beside him.

"Brian? Ah, you're finally responding! Are... are you all right? You're crying? Why?"

Blankly, Brian brushed a finger across the corner of his eye. His fingertip felt wet and cold. Ah, yes. He really was crying.

He opened his mouth, unsure what to say. After a stretch of silence, he sighed. "I don't know, Hagrid. I just feel so sad."

He had saved a girl. He had felt the magic inside him for the first time and successfully controlled it. He should have been happy. Why were tears falling without his realizing it?

"I understand, Brian. I often think of bad memories when I'm drunk and cry while holding Fang." Hagrid handed him a handkerchief stitched together from several different fabrics.

"Don't cry. I'll buy you a drink tonight."

"Does Hogwarts have a pub too?" Brian took the oddly fashioned handkerchief, discovered that quite a lot of Hagrid's snot was stuck to it, and didn't dare use it on his face.