"Two of them? Then these must be the candidates, I take it."
"That’s right, Wood. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I just saw. Potter dived from sixteen meters up and caught a Remembrall as it fell to the ground. Without a scratch on him, too."
"Oh? Impressive. Judging by his build, he seems perfect for Seeker."
"The problem is this one."
Me? Why?
"Wood, this boy is Leonard Oppenbach."
"Ah, the love-struck fellow who confessed at the Sorting ceremony?"
"Yes, that Oppenbach. This boy is even worse than Potter. He dived from the height of Hogwarts’ highest spire and pulled off the same Wronski Feint as Harry. Oppenbach is bigger than Harry, so naturally he picked up even more speed. What’s even more absurd is that he did that with his girlfriend riding behind him."
"He did that crazy thing with his girlfriend on the broom? Wow, he’s even crazier than I thought."
Crazier?
That’s a bit much for a first meeting.
"Potter, Oppenbach. Have either of you ever ridden a broom before?"
"No."
"No, this is my first time too."
"You heard that, Wood?"
"Yes. Truly remarkable talent. These boys could easily make the national team."
"Potter. What were you thinking, handling a broom like that?"
"Uh... I was just trying to protect Neville’s Remembrall, and things happened before I knew it. I wasn’t thinking about anything else."
"And Oppenbach?"
"I just thought it would work, so I did it. I’m pretty talented at physical things."
"My, my. A body and nerves that can take that kind of acceleration without a problem, plus that limitless confidence that there’s no issue even with your girlfriend on the broom."
"They’re both born Quidditch players. That’s the problem."
"Yes, it certainly is."
No, what exactly is the problem?
Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing.
"Um... isn’t it good if both of us are good?"
Wood answered Harry’s question.
"I said you’d be perfect for Seeker, didn’t I, Potter?"
"Yes, I heard you."
"Quidditch has seven players. Three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and finally one Seeker. Right now, Gryffindor has exactly one empty position: Seeker."
So they could just pick Harry like in the original story.
"Then why not just pick Harry?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you look like you’d do better."
"So?"
"What do you mean, so? If we choose you because you’d do better, we can’t use Potter. If we choose Potter, we can’t use you. No matter how I look at it, Potter seems fit for nothing but Seeker."
Wood cut himself off, then suddenly reached out and felt my arm, letting out an impressed sound.
"Wow, look at these muscles. You’ve been working out, haven’t you?"
"Yes, well... a little."
Exercise was a must if I wanted to teach the backup thugs at Spinner’s End a lesson.
"With that much arm strength, you’d probably make a good Beater too. And Chaser goes without saying. What a waste, what a waste. If we had six boys like you, a perfect Quidditch league season wouldn’t be a dream."
Wood went on with a blissful look on his face.
"Anyway, if we use Potter as Seeker, we’d have to put you in another position. But Gryffindor’s other positions are all occupied by top players. I think you’d do much better than them, but they’re all such a shame to waste... especially the Weasley twins."
Damn. So that was all it was.
"Then I just won’t play."
"Oppenbach! Did you not hear a word we just said?"
"Right, you brat. If you don’t play Quidditch, who will?"
"I never said I was going to join the Quidditch team."
"What nonsense is that?"
"Right, you brat. Talent like yours not playing Quidditch would be a national loss!"
"No, I just rode a broom for a bit because I wanted to go on a broom date with Hermione."
"Exactly! And if you can perform like that after only riding for a bit, then the Quidditch Cup is basically in the bag!"
"Why on earth don’t you want to do it?"
Honestly, they talked too much for someone who’d already been told no.
"Because... Quidditch is lame."
"What?"
"Lame?"
"Ha... do I really need to explain why Quidditch is lame?"
"Go on, then. If I don’t like your explanation, you’re joining the Quidditch team no matter what."
"The game ends when the Snitch is caught, right?"
"That’s right."
"And the Snitch is worth how many points?"
"One hundred and fifty."
"Then the team that catches it gets 150 points added to whatever total they’ve scored before the game ends, right?"
"That’s right."
"Then among all official Quidditch matches ever played—the Quidditch World Cup, each country’s Quidditch league, the Quidditch League Cup, and interschool Quidditch competitions—how many games have there been where a team caught the Snitch and still lost?"
"Uh... well... I’m not sure. I’ve never heard of that happening. It’s theoretically possible, but the odds are far too low."
"Quidditch is played by seven people, right?"
"Yes."
"And only one Seeker can catch the Snitch, right?"
"Yes."
"Then why do the other twelve players, besides the two Seekers, even bother playing? Beaters can at least interfere with the Seeker, but Chasers work themselves to death scoring goals, only for the team that catches the Snitch to win anyway. What’s the point?"
"..."
"Wood, what position do you play?"
"Keeper."
"Same for you, Wood. So what if a few goals get past you? We just wait for our Seeker to catch the Snitch first. If the other team catches it, we lose anyway. If we catch it, then it doesn’t matter if we’ve let in a few goals, does it? In that case, it’d be better to just leave the goalposts and go body-check the other Seeker."
"..."
"And why doesn’t Quidditch standardize equipment? Some people can’t afford a decent broom and have to ride old Shooting Stars, while others have enough money at home to fly on a Nimbus 2000. What’s the point of that?
Isn’t sports supposed to be about testing skill? Is Quidditch maybe a sport where the richer you are, the more you win?
If you want to call Quidditch a sport, then first cut that ridiculous Snitch point value down by a huge margin, and make everyone play on the same broom.
And who came up with the absurd rule that you can’t substitute players during a match? Did they make the rules after getting hit in the head by a Bludger?
What if someone gets injured? If it hurts too much, they can’t play; if it hurts a little less, they just grit their teeth and keep going? Then why bother swinging Bludgers around? You might as well just smack people in the back of the head and injure them directly."
"..."
"That’s why I say I’m not doing something like Quidditch. Football, maybe."
"Football? The sport of Muggles?"
"Of course. Football is so much fun. Glo~ry glo~ry Man United! Glo~ry glo~ry Man United!"
"Man United? Who named a team that? If they don’t get results, people will just mock them by calling them manure. And just from the name, they already sound weak. What, do they usually finish around fifteenth?"
"...I’m not really sure what you mean. Sir Ferguson’s Manchester United is one of England’s greatest clubs. But that’s not the important part. Anyway, just pick Harry. If we keep arguing here, one brush with each other will be fatal, so let’s just go with Harry."
"No! You must play as a Quidditch player!"
"Then you’ll have to give me some real motivation."
"Wouldn’t Granger be happy to see you doing well in a Quidditch match?"
"As far as I know, she hates Quidditch too. Since she’s Muggle-born like me, she’d probably rather watch football than Quidditch."
"Damn it!"
???
Did Professor McGonagall just say that?
"How much! How much would it take!"
"Pardon?"
"How much would it take for you to play Quidditch!"
"Professor... even so, you can’t just try to buy me with money..."
"One hundred? Two hundred?"
"One hundred Galleons per match. And a brand-new broom."
"Ha! Fine! Oppenbach, no taking it back now. A man doesn’t speak with two tongues, does he?"
"No, Professor! How could you spend your own money on this?"
Wood cried out with a pained expression.
But under Professor McGonagall’s iron command, he had to shrink his neck in defeat.
"I! Can no longer stand by and watch those blasted Slytherins lord it over me!
Do you know what Professor Snape said to me last year!?
'Gryffindor hasn’t had the Quidditch Cup for five years now, has it? Meanwhile, Slytherin has won three years in a row.'
Do you expect me to keep hearing that sort of cheap provocation at my age!
Stand up straight, Wood! Why haven’t you brought back the Quidditch Cup!"
"I’m... I’m sorry."
"You Quidditch players are always full of excuses! The broom was old! The other team played dirty! Since when has the great Gryffindor become a place for that sort of excuse-making!"
"We’ll bring back the Quidditch Cup this year, no matter what!"
"That’s more like it, Wood! If I hear that Gryffindor is beneath Slytherin again this year, then your recommendation to a professional Quidditch team will be gone. Now off with you."
"Yes, Professor!"
Wood finished his salute with a grim voice and marched out of the office.
Professor McGonagall actually has a hooligan streak in her...
I finally calmed down and asked Professor McGonagall, "Professor, but if he’s a Seeker, shouldn’t he use the best broom?"
"Of course."
"But does Gryffindor’s Quidditch team even have enough money left to buy a Nimbus 2000?"
"...No. Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll make sure to buy you the latest model."
No, how rich is he, exactly?
"Professor, you know about the Potter family’s wealth, don’t you? Why not just tell him to take it out of his own vault? That’s what everyone else does, isn’t it?"
"How could I make one of my own house students buy a Nimbus 2000 with his own money?"
"If Harry just opened the trust vault he has at Gringotts right now, he could probably buy more than a hundred Nimbus 2000s."
"What! Tell me, Potter! Just how much is in your vault!"
"Uh... I haven’t counted, so I don’t know."
"You don’t know because you haven’t counted?"
While Professor McGonagall was reeling from the shock, I kept egging the two of them on.
"And that isn’t even Harry’s entire fortune. It’s only a tiny portion of the Potter family’s wealth that Harry’s father left with Professor Dumbledore so Harry could be raised properly. The Potter family’s real vault deep inside Gringotts is probably enough to fill three vaults to the brim."
"That much? I’ve only heard of the Potter family’s wealth, but it really is enormous. But how do you know that, Oppenbach? You’re Muggle-born, aren’t you?"
"...I’ve just heard things here and there. Anyway, Harry, you wouldn’t mind taking Galleons out of your vault to buy a broom, would you?"
"Of course not."
"Then let’s do that, Professor."
"Very well. Potter, if I’m to go to Gringotts on a holiday and take Galleons from your vault, I’ll need temporary authorization. So come to my office right after breakfast on Saturday. The Quidditch tryouts are that afternoon, so time is very tight."
"Yes, Professor."
"I’m sorry to have taken up both your time. Off you go now."
We bowed to the professor and were about to leave the office.
But Professor McGonagall called after me as I followed Harry out.
"Leonard Oppenbach."
"Yes, Professor?"
"You’d better make sure you’re worth the money."
"Ah... of course, Professor. For Gryffindor."
"Yes, for Gryffindor."
*
Friday morning, September 13, 1991.
Potions classroom.
"I took a good look at the boils potion you lot handed in last lesson. It was truly painful to look at. How is it that between two houses, only one team managed a perfect score?"
Of course it was Hermione and me.
"I clearly said that those below standard would receive extra lessons. Honestly, you’re all unbearable. How do you end up like this every single year!"
Professor Snape spent the whole lesson complaining about the students’ level, and in proportion to that, Gryffindor’s house points were being slashed as if they were under bombardment.
"If you had any conscience, you would never have submitted this trash and called it a potion. How much of my time do you intend to waste? Do I look as idle as you lot?"
Professor... wouldn’t it be easier just not to hold extra lessons?
Was he doing this because he was a true teacher who wanted to take in even the weakest students, or because he was just a mad professor who liked tormenting them?
Whatever the reason, this was definitely a problem. In my opinion, drastic measures were needed.
When class ended, I sent my friends off first and stayed behind in the classroom.
Professor Snape kept grumbling about whatever was bothering him.
"Why are you still here? Get out already. You’re making a nuisance of yourself."
"Professor."
"What."
"You made a bet with me last time, remember?"
"Yes. You filthy thief of my Felix Felicis. How was your teacher’s precious potion? Tasty?"
"Of course. Its color was so radiant that it really did seem to carry the skill of the world’s greatest potion master."
"What? Stop trying to rile me and get out."
"No, that’s not it. You said that if I lost the bet, you’d make me your first-year assistant."
"And?"
"Why don’t I just do that?"
"You? Volunteering for that? What are you scheming?"
"Now that’s hurtful! I’m saying I want to shoulder my teacher’s burden with you."
"As if you would. Spit out your real motive already."
"Don’t you think the kids’ level is pathetic? They can’t even cut properly, and they can’t control the heat."
Professor Snape agreed with my words with unusual intensity.
"Exactly. Their skills are truly trash. I told them to slice at one-centimeter intervals, and they cut at three. I told them to simmer over low heat for a long time, and they boiled it on high from start to finish and burned everything. If that were all, I could let it pass. But how can they even get the order of ingredients wrong? I wrote it all on the board! Bunch of fools who don’t even know clockwise from counterclockwise."
"Exactly. Don’t you think something needs to be done? Shouldn’t these idiots be made to practice cutting and heat control first?"
Professor Snape snorted as if the idea were ridiculous.
"Hmph. Practice won’t help. Can a watermelon be made from a pumpkin just by drawing lines on it? A true master understands such things instinctively, without practice."
"No, but please, at least try it once. Even if they can’t become masters, wouldn’t they waste less material? Those fools must be wasting at least a thousand Galleons’ worth of ingredients a year.
They waste ingredients once by making substandard potions, then waste them again in extra lessons, and some of them even end up needing extra lessons for the extra lessons.
If the ones barely below the passing line improved even a little, wouldn’t the extra lessons disappear? Of course, except for idiots like Crabbe and Goyle.
If you save on ingredients, it’s good for the school. Then you can use the Galleons you save to buy rare herbs. Fewer extra lessons would be good for the students too, and it would save your time as well.
What do you think? Isn’t it worth trying?"
"Hmm... I suppose even the trash that’s barely tolerable might improve into trash that’s at least somewhat tolerable. There’s some logic to that. So what next?"
Oh, he seemed a little tempted now.
"I need permission to deduct points."
"What? Only prefects and the Head Boy can deduct points from students. And even then, they’re supposed to report the reason to the faculty. What would you even use deductions for?"
"Well, I’m the Potions assistant, aren’t I? Isn’t it natural to deduct points if they don’t follow instructions? As for reporting the reason, you’re right here beside me anyway, Professor."
"I haven’t agreed to make you an assistant yet."
"So you won’t?"
"You’re not even unpleasant enough to hate if you can’t speak properly. Fine, do it. I’ll take care of the procedure."
"Oh, and I’ll need Professor Flitwick’s help."
*
Saturday afternoon, the second week of September.
Quidditch pitch.
Professor McGonagall had somehow managed to buy two Nimbus 2000s and return within that tight schedule.
"Here. Take them, Potter, Oppenbach. These are your brooms."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Ahh, this heavy, cool feeling. It’s my first time. After so long under humiliation and oppression... I was getting sick of it. Thank you, Professor McGonagall. Now it’s time to return as Leonard Oppenbach, the Slytherin butcher."
"Leonard, what are you talking about? Are you hurt somewhere?"
Damn it! Harry, you idiot, why are you so oblivious? That was a line I’d always wanted to say once.
"Anyway, how do we do the test?"
"At your level, you’d pass no matter what, but we still need a test. That’s only fair."
For today’s tryout, all the Gryffindor boys who owned their own brooms had gathered. Quite a few girls had come too.
I still didn’t understand why Quidditch inspired such enthusiasm...
Ron didn’t have his own broom yet, so he couldn’t take part in the tryout. But since the position he’d be going for was Keeper, he couldn’t join the Quidditch team until Wood graduated anyway.
Wood, captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team, looked at the many students who had come to the tryouts and said with great solemnity, "Gentlemen! Welcome to the Gryffindor Quidditch team Seeker tryouts. The test will be conducted using a fake Snitch. It’s slower than the real thing, but still quite fast.
The most talented person, the one willing to devote their life to Gryffindor, will have the honor of being selected as Seeker. Now, to your positions!"
Wood was trying very hard to build the atmosphere, but the test ended rather anticlimactically.
Just twenty seconds after the match began, Harry beat all the other competitors and caught the fake Snitch.
Professor McGonagall wiped away tears and said to the beaming Harry, "As expected of James Potter’s son. That shining talent never goes away."
Harry asked Professor McGonagall in surprise, "Huh? You knew my father, Professor?"
"Of course I did. I taught your father. He was a mischievous boy, but a truly excellent student. He was very good at Quidditch too. If you’re curious, go to the trophy case on the third floor. All the Quidditch Cups from over the years are displayed there, so your father’s record should be there too. While James was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, we were unbeatable."
"I’ll definitely go look later."
"Do that. Oppenbach, you’re ready, I assume?"
"Of course, Professor."
In the end, I reached an agreement to take one of the Chaser positions.
Gryffindor’s Chasers were all girls, named Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell, and I had to push one of them out.
The test was to avoid the attacks of the Weasley twins, who hurled Bludgers at us as if they were trying to kill us, and score Quaffles into the goal defended by Wood himself. I did the best, and the next best scorers were Angelina and Katie.
Katie, in particular, had already played on the Quidditch team last year. Considering that the school only selected Quidditch players starting from second year, Katie clearing tryouts in first year showed just how exceptional she was.
As for Angelina, she was already famous as the best Chaser in the school.
So in the end, Alicia Spinnet was eliminated by the narrowest of margins.
But she showed no dissatisfaction at all and willingly stepped down to reserve.
Alicia even cheered me on, saying it was only natural for the better player to be chosen.
I walked over to Hermione, who had come all the way to the tryouts to cheer me on enthusiastically, and said, "Hera, I did well, right?"
"Of course. You were the most amazing."
"But don’t you hate Quidditch?"
"I do. Quidditch isn’t really my thing. Football is better, after all. Still, I wanted to watch the match. My boyfriend joined the Quidditch team to impress me, so if I don’t watch, who will?"
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