Eleven-year-old Harry Potter Shook the Wizarding World!

The day after the match ended, Harry had thought everyone would have calmed down a little.

Until he came down the stairs and several students stopped him in the corridor leading to the Great Hall.

"Potter! Did you really jump off your broomstick yesterday?"

"...Didn't you see it?"

"But I still can't believe it!"

A Ravenclaw student squeezed over from the side. "Potter! I heard you can fly without a broomstick?"

Harry's smile froze.

"Who said that?"

"Someone said you can already fly like a bird!"

"I can't. My broomstick was right beside me. I just-"

"Stop talking, everyone! Listen to me!"

Ron's voice came from behind him.

Harry was just about to sigh with relief when he heard Ron add proudly:

"That's nothing! You have no idea-Harry's a young wizard who can summon the sun!"

"Ron!!!"

"What?"

Ron turned, his face utterly innocent.

Looking at the eyes that suddenly lit up around him, Harry felt that it might already be too late to explain.

Luckily, Hermione caught Ron's sleeve in time.

"Ron, if you keep talking, we're going to miss breakfast."

Only when they reached the Great Hall did Harry discover that it wasn't over yet.

Madam Hooch made a point of delivering a reminder before breakfast.

"The flying maneuvers performed during yesterday's match were extremely dangerous. Even older players should not attempt them lightly."

Her sharp gaze swept across the long tables.

"I must admit that Mr. Potter demonstrated extraordinary control in flight. But this is by no means a technique to imitate at will."

Harry silently lowered his head and cut into the fried egg on his plate.

Beside him, Fred looked thoughtful.

"George, I've got it. We don't need to make up stories to praise Harry anymore."

George immediately nodded.

"We just need to let the professors explain how dangerous the things he does are."

"Then everyone will know how amazing he is."

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall's voice happened to ring out behind them. "The two of you had better not draw any strange inspiration from this!"

Both brothers sat up straight at once.

"Of course, Professor."

Harry was already very familiar with that dependable expression.

It was then that the owls flew into the Great Hall.

Wings skimmed over the long tables, and rolls of newspapers dropped in front of their subscribers.

Before long, Ron slapped a newspaper down beside Harry.

"Harry! You're in the paper!"

"Haven't I been in it before?"

"This is different! Look for yourself!"

On the front page of the Daily Prophet, an eye-catching teaser directed readers to a special report farther inside.

[Eleven years old! The Chosen One, Harry Potter, performs an incredible aerial miracle!]

A subheading followed right beneath it.

[Hogwarts' youngest Seeker in a century snatches a thrilling victory in his debut!]

Harry turned to the page, and the first thing he saw was his own photograph.

The black-haired boy leaped off his broomstick.

He plunged toward the ground.

Then, just as he was about to hit the grass, he shot back into the sky.

The action in the photograph repeated over and over. After watching it twice, Harry silently pushed the newspaper a little farther away.

Wait, had it really looked that frightening when I jumped yesterday?

Hermione glanced at him and covered her mouth with a chuckle.

"Now do you understand why Professor McGonagall was angry?"

"...Yes."

The report did not stop at that one dive.

Reading farther down, he actually found his performance in Charms, as well as his experience protecting his classmates and fighting the troll on Halloween.

Several passages identified comments from teachers and students, and the section on the troll incident also noted that it had been confirmed by the school.

Regarding his flying technique, the reporter quoted Madam Hooch's opinion and also interviewed a retired professional Seeker, Edmund Ward.

"To make that sort of judgment about timing in one's very first official match is truly rare."

But another sentence followed: "Of course, I hope someone gives him a serious lesson in what safety means."

Ron couldn't help laughing when he read that part.

At the end of the report, the journalist wrote:

"The miracle of ten years ago made people remember Harry Potter as a baby in swaddling clothes. Now, through his own performance, this boy is making the wizarding world come to know his name anew."

Another line appeared below.

"He is already so outstanding at eleven. What, then, will he be like ten years from now?"

The same newspaper soon appeared in many places throughout Britain's wizarding world.

In the Leaky Cauldron, several wizards gathered around a table.

The boy in the photograph hurtled toward the ground again, and one of them couldn't help giving such a start that the cup in his hand wobbled.

"Merlin above! Is that really that Harry Potter?"

"Could the paper mistake someone else for the Chosen One?"

"He's only eleven, isn't he?"

"Keep reading. Charms, a troll... this boy can do more than ride a broomstick."

An older wizard pulled the newspaper closer.

"I always used to think that what happened back then might have been a miracle caused by some special magic." He pointed at the photograph. "But the boy himself really is a genius too."

Behind the counter, Tom was wiping a glass and couldn't resist joining in.

"I still remember when he came here before. Very polite. Even with people crowding around to talk to him, he never showed the slightest impatience."

"And it's only been a few months..."

Meanwhile, at another breakfast table, an elder of the Parkinson family spread the newspaper flat and read the latter half of the report again.

"If he isn't merely good at flying, then he's worth keeping an eye on."

The assessment in the Greengrass Family, however, was more cautious.

"He's eleven. It's still too early to draw conclusions."

"Still, with so many people already willing to listen to news about this boy..."

The speaker folded the newspaper and set it close at hand.

"We can keep watching."

The Nott family's study was much quieter.

The newspaper was turned to the photograph of him holding the Golden Snitch high, then slowly closed.

Only after a moment did someone speak coolly. "Newspapers always like to make things sound exciting."

Yet that newspaper was not thrown into the fireplace in the end either.

Another day later, Harry received his first letter from a stranger at the breakfast table.

Then came the second and the third. One gray owl had barely flown away before another landed, nearly stepping into his pumpkin juice.

Ron stared at the letters gradually piling up beside the table, forgetting even to take a bite of his bread.

"Are these... all for you?"

"Looks like it."

Some congratulated him on winning his debut match, some asked for his autograph, and some came from Quidditch enthusiasts who wanted to know exactly how he had judged where his broomstick and body would meet.

One even invited him to attend a flying exchange event during the holidays.

"Harry! You're really a big name now!" But as soon as the words left his mouth, he suddenly realized something.

"Oh, no, hang on..."

Ron scratched his head and couldn't help laughing.

"I suppose you were already a big name! It's just that now you've become even more famous!"

Holding several letters, Harry began to get a headache.

"But I don't even know how I should reply now."

Ron gave it serious thought. "How about just saying thank you to all of them?"

Harry looked at him for two seconds.

Great.

That certainly is a very concise approach.

Soon, however, a letter with several pages of notes attached caught his attention.

It was signed Edmund Ward.

The retired Seeker from the newspaper.

The first half-page of the letter praised his judgment, then devoted considerably more space to criticizing his reckless leap.

Harry patiently finished reading and opened the attachments, only for his eyes to light up at once.

Controlling his center of gravity during a high-speed dive, the delay between a broomstick's response and the body's movements, and the distance he should leave himself for an emergency pull-up at several different speeds.

Alongside the notes were clear diagrams of trajectories and forces.

Harry couldn't help sitting up a little straighter.

This is good stuff.

This letter clearly deserved more than a simple thank-you.

After Charms that afternoon, Flitwick asked Harry to stay behind.

"Mr. Potter, I thought you were already surprising enough when it came to charms." The professor smiled at him. "I never expected you to be so outstanding at flying as well."

"It's mainly because I've been practicing quite a lot lately."

Flitwick paused.

Practice again. Among the students he had taught, this was hardly the only one willing to spend time practicing.

Yet the child before him always seemed able to turn "a few more attempts" into some unexpected result.

"In that case, we can also make our private lessons a little more challenging from now on."

Harry's eyes lit up.

"More complicated spells?"

"Of course, that will depend on how well you master them," Flitwick reminded him. "But you mustn't let your practice of the Shield Charm and Stunning Spell slide because of that."

"I understand, Professor."

Seeing Harry's already eager expression, Flitwick couldn't help smiling and shaking his head.

This child was actually happier to hear that he would be learning something harder than to hear praise.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter." Flitwick suddenly remembered something, and his smile faded a little. "There's something else I think I should tell you."

Harry raised his head.

"What is it, Professor?"

"Do you remember the concerns about Professor Quirrell that you mentioned to me before?"

Something stirred faintly in Harry's heart.

"Of course I remember."

"In fact, I have already passed your suspicions on to Headmaster Dumbledore."

Flitwick adjusted his glasses.

"The headmaster took them quite seriously."

"He even specifically arranged for several professors to pay particular attention to what was happening on the pitch during the last Quidditch match."

Harry immediately perked up. "Did you discover anything, then?"

"Unfortunately, no." Flitwick shook his head. "At least, in our observations, Professor Quirrell displayed nothing unusual."

"Of course, the headmaster has not disregarded your warning because of that."

At this point, his expression grew a little more serious.

"However, Mr. Potter, you should also understand that suspicion is ultimately only suspicion."

"Without sufficient evidence, we cannot casually accuse a professor."

Harry nodded obediently.

"I understand, Professor."

"I just hope the school can keep a closer eye on things. After all, if something really does go wrong..."

"That isn't something first-year young wizards like us could handle."

At this, the admiration in Flitwick's eyes deepened.

"A very wise thought, Mr. Potter."

"Protecting students is our responsibility as professors in the first place."

Harry thanked him again, but he had already begun turning things over in his mind.

So that was it.

No wonder Quirrell never made a move during that Quidditch match.

It seemed the headmaster was already on his guard, and Quirrell had probably noticed something too.

After all, someone Voldemort had chosen couldn't possibly be unaware that he was being watched.

But the question was... would he really stop here?

Harry certainly didn't think so.

He might be secretly plotting something even bigger.

At that thought, Harry couldn't help feeling a headache coming on.

Tsk.

Couldn't these Dark wizards give it a rest?

All he wanted now was to grind his proficiency in peace and enjoy a little campus life at Hogwarts along the way!

Still, the good news was that Dumbledore had begun taking this seriously.

In that case, he didn't need to worry too much for now.

If all else failed...

He would just go straight to the Headmaster's Office and explain the situation to Dumbledore face-to-face!

He refused to believe it.

Could the greatest Light wizard in the Wizarding World really not deal with a Quirrell who had Voldemort hiding on the back of his head?

Of course, that was the last resort.

Making the most of his time to improve his strength was what mattered most.

The study at Malfoy Manor.

Lucius finished reading the report once more and slowly set his teacup back on its saucer.

His daughter's letters home and the news from Halloween had already drawn his attention to Potter.

And this report laid out the boy's performance more clearly.

Flying, spells, and courage when facing a troll.

Several talents gathered in a single child were already worth taking seriously.

Now, others had also begun discussing Potter's future.

A house-elf brought in several letters just then.

One came from an acquaintance with close ties to the Ministry of Magic, who asked about Potter in passing after the pleasantries.

Another came from a member of a pure-blood family, saying that their child had mentioned in a letter home that Malfoy and Potter got along well, and hoping to hear Lucius's opinion.

Lucius's fingertip paused on that line for a moment.

He had never publicly discussed this friendship of his daughter's.

Yet others had already begun learning about Potter through the Malfoy family, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Lucius." Narcissa walked into the study and glanced at the newspaper on the desk. "You seem very interested in the Potter family's child lately."

"His potential warrants attention."

"Oh, just his potential?"

Lucius looked up, his expression still calm.

"Narcissa, you must understand that a talented wizard is not frightening."

"What truly warrants attention is a talented wizard who also possesses sufficient renown."

He lightly tapped the newspaper.

"In the past, people respected Potter because he defeated the Dark Lord.

"But from today onward, they may respect him for something else."

"What?"

"Because they believe... he has the ability to become someone truly important in the future."

Narcissa glanced at the two letters.

"Draco would probably be very pleased with herself if she knew you admired her friend so much."

Lucius smiled faintly.

"Perhaps she hasn't yet realized just what sort of friend she has made."

"Perhaps she knows perfectly well." Narcissa gazed at the boy holding up the Golden Snitch in the photograph. "It's just that she and you see him differently."

Lucius did not argue.

He took some parchment from a drawer and wrote down several names.

Nott, Parkinson, Greengrass... then he added several familiar senior Ministry of Magic officials.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Host a dinner."

Lucius set the two letters aside.

"An eleven-year-old child has already prompted so many adults to begin discussing his future."

"I'd like to hear how they discuss this name when they're seated at the same table."

Lucius finished writing the last letter and sealed it.

Outside the window, the waiting owl gently flapped its wings.

He handed the letters to the house-elf.

"Send them out."

"Tell them the Malfoy family will be hosting a dinner this weekend."