The next morning.
We got an earful from Hermione the moment we woke up.
"What? You went off to have a duel in the middle of the night? Have you two lost your minds? Once curfew starts, no one is supposed to leave their dormitory. What if you’d been caught by a professor? And why on earth did you go into the door on the third-floor corridor?"
After taking Hermione’s barrage of complaints, Ron looked like his lips were sticking out a foot.
"I just told you, Hermione. We got into it by mistake while running from Filch. It wasn’t our fault."
"Ron, Hera is only worried about you. If a friend is worried, you should be grateful."
"So you didn’t go, huh? Wow, I can’t stand couples taking sides like that."
"Then you should date someone too. Do you have a girl you like?"
"What? A girl I like? No, not yet. Anyway, what do you even like about her so much?"
"Well, obviously I fell for her looks. Hera’s the prettiest girl in the school."
"The prettiest? Have you got something wrong with your eyes?"
"That’s my line. Where are you finding a girl prettier than Hera?"
Are all these insane wizards blind? They leave a girl this pretty alone until fourth year?
Don’t come crying to me later when you’re kicking yourselves. I’m the one who snatched her up first.
I’m never letting go.
"Wow, you’ve really got it bad."
"Got it bad, my foot. Then who do you think is the prettiest?"
"Hmm... Parvati? I think Parvati’s the prettiest. Not that I’m saying I like her, of course."
Oh? So Parvati, huh?
"Hey, Parvati!"
"What?"
"Ron says you’re the prettiest girl at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, really? Thanks, Ron~"
Ron’s face turned bright red.
Even his ears were red. He looked like a perfectly ripe tomato.
"Leonard! Why would you say that!"
"Hah... you foolish mortal. You should be thanking me, not acting so rude."
"What are you even talking about?"
I decided to enlighten Ron, who still didn’t know what was what.
"Think carefully. Are you going to marry a Muggle?"
"No. I’m not discriminating against Muggles, but what would I even have to do with one?"
"Right? Then that means you’ll marry a witch."
"I guess so?"
"And in Britain, all the witches your age are at Hogwarts, right?"
"Right?"
"Then all your potential brides are at Hogwarts too, aren’t they?"
"Uh... I guess?"
"Has your family already chosen your fiancée for you?"
"No, that’s the sort of thing pure-blood Slytherins do. Not our family."
"Then you have to find a girlfriend yourself, don’t you?"
"Right?"
"Hogwarts has about eight hundred students, so let’s say half are girls. That’s about four hundred, right?"
"Probably."
"Do you plan on marrying someone from another year?"
"Uh, I’m not sure?"
"Let’s say you do. But what chance do you have to get involved with them? You don’t have classes together, Hogwarts doesn’t have clubs, and you’re not in one of those clubs the professors pick top students for."
"Right? There wouldn’t be any chance to get involved, would there?"
"Then your marriage prospects are basically going to be decided within our year, aren’t they?"
"I guess so?"
"Are you planning to marry a Slytherin?"
"What kind of insane thing is that? Don’t say horrible things like that!"
"Then do you have any close friends in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?"
"No? I don’t."
"Then the only girls you know are the first-year Gryffindor girls, right?"
"Uh... I guess?"
"See? There are about a hundred students in each year, and there are four houses, so divide by four. Then half are boys, so divide by two again. By simple math, that leaves about twelve or thirteen girls as your bride candidates."
"I guess so?"
"What do you mean, ‘I guess so’? Do you still not get it? I already claimed Hera, so that’s one girl gone. If someone else snatches up the rest, then who exactly are you lot going to marry? Your friend’s little sister? But your closest friend, Harry, and I don’t have little sisters."
"Ah! That’s true!"
"Ah! That’s true? You still haven’t come to your senses. What if the older students snatch up our year? They’re taller than us and they’ll be earning money before we do."
"Gasp! That’s true."
"If you don’t hurry up and snatch the pretty girls first, you won’t have a girlfriend. And even if you barely manage to get one, what guarantee do you have she’ll be to your taste?"
"Hah, I guess this isn’t the time to be relaxed..."
Ron finally seemed to have understood something.
"You all heard that too, right?"
Before I knew it, everyone in the Gryffindor common room was listening to me. Not just our year, but the upper years too.
"Our Gryffindor seniors, shouldn’t we enjoy our youth while we can? Then I’ll be off to go on a date with Hera. Oh, Ron! Come to the Transfiguration classroom after lunch later. We need to go see Professor McGonagall."
After saying my piece, I took Hermione’s hand and left the common room.
Before I closed the door, I heard someone already asking her out.
Satisfying.
*
After lunch, Ron and I knocked on Professor McGonagall’s office door.
"Hello, Professor."
"Yes. What is it, Oppenbach, Weasley?"
"I came today because of Ron’s wand."
"His wand? What about it?"
"I think it would be better if you took a look."
Professor McGonagall looked at Ron’s wand and was horrified.
"Why is your wand in such poor condition? There isn’t a trace of proper care. And why is the core sticking out? Unicorn hair is nearly ruined once it gets like this."
"W-Well... my mother said we didn’t have enough money to buy a wand. That wand belonged to my brother Charlie, after he graduated."
"What?! You didn’t have enough money to buy a wand? There’s no way your mother is that poor at managing the household. The Ministry of Magic and Mr. Ollivander’s shop have a partnership, so first-years only need to pay seven Galleons. No matter how many children you have and how hard things are, how can you send your child to Hogwarts and not even buy them a new wand!"
Professor McGonagall seemed genuinely angry.
"I think I understand the situation. I’ll handle it myself, so you two can go now."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Oh, Mr. Oppenbach."
"Yes, Professor."
"This weekend, the Quidditch Cup finally begins."
"Yes."
"Are you prepared to cut down those damned snake heads and bring them back?"
"Ah... of course. Those despicable snake bastards deserve to die."
"Gryffindor to glory!"
"Death to Slytherin!"
We exchanged our farewells and left the room.
"Since Professor McGonagall said that, your mother will probably contact you soon."
"But does Professor McGonagall really use language like that? I’ve never heard her say anything like it."
"Ah... she’s not usually like that, but she gets that way sometimes when Quidditch comes up. It’s fine, it’s nothing."
*
Saturday afternoon.
The Hogwarts Quidditch Cup had finally begun.
The opening match was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, a rivalry with a long history.
The Quidditch pitch was packed with students who had come to cheer.
The six players were listening to Wood’s speech in the locker room.
Wood opened his mouth with a solemn expression.
"I’ve waited a long time for this day, for the day we beat Slytherin again. Since Charlie graduated, we haven’t beaten them once. I don’t want to lose to those trash Slytherins ever again. You’re not going to hand me another defeat today, are you?"
"Don’t worry, Captain~ We’ll crush them."
"Oh, as expected of a national team candidate! So confident? Good. Don’t let them score a single goal, and make sure you catch the Snitch. Got it, Harry?"
"I’ll do my best."
"No! Doing your best isn’t enough! Swear to me that you’ll catch the Snitch!"
"Yes! I swear I’ll catch the Snitch!"
"That’s the spirit! Fred, George!"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Keep your eyes on Harry. He doesn’t have much experience yet, so he might run into trouble once the real match starts."
"Leave it to us. Who do you think we are? The best Beaters at Hogwarts, of course."
"Angelina, Katie!"
"Yes!"
"You saw it in practice too, but this Leonard fellow is something else. You know that, right?"
"Of course, Captain."
"We’ll go with the plan. Follow Leonard’s lead closely. We’re going in now. Relax, it’s nothing special."
We left the players’ waiting room and headed for the pitch.
From the opposite tunnel, the Slytherin lot were crawling out.
Both teams mounted their brooms in order, starting from the front, and entered the pitch.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The day has finally arrived!
The long-awaited Hogwarts Quidditch Cup! Welcome to the opening match you’ve all been waiting for!"
The commentary was being handled by Lee Jordan, Fred and George’s friend.
"The players are entering now. Ah, there’s Slytherin’s Flint. He’s famous for looking just like a gorilla. Wow, that Gryffindor over there is really handsome. Ah! There’s Angelina Johnson too! The prettiest girl in our year!"
"Jordan! Focus on the commentary!"
"Yes, Professor, sorry."
The fourteen players lined up in the air at the center of the pitch.
Madam Hooch entered the pitch carrying the box of game balls and spoke.
"Everyone, play a clean game!"
But neither we nor Slytherin looked like we had any intention of playing fair.
Madam Hooch opened the box, releasing the Bludgers and the Snitch. As they scattered in all directions, she lifted the Quaffle and threw it into the air.
Relying on the speed of the Nimbus 2000, I won the first ball.
Now was the chance, while the players were still bunched together.
I accelerated to top speed and hurled the Quaffle into Slytherin’s goal before their defenders had even gotten back.
"Oppenbach scores right as the match begins! Gryffindor leads 10 to 0!"
After conceding a goal, Slytherin’s Keeper threw the ball to one of their Chasers.
I hid beneath the Chaser, and the moment he caught the ball and turned, I rushed in and slammed into him to steal it.
But the whistle never blew.
Was that not a foul? Why not?
Was the rule weird, or had Madam Hooch gone a bit blind?
That felt less like a body check and more like a straight-up collision, and it still wasn’t a foul.
Maybe rough play is treated the same here as it is in the Premier League.
Either way, if it wasn’t a foul, it was in my favor.
The moment a one-on-one situation opened up, I slipped past the flustered Slytherin Keeper and scored again.
"Oppenbach scores again! The score is now 20 to 0!"
Since I’d taken advantage of their lapse and scored another goal, that trick wouldn’t work again.
Now it was time for the tactics we’d prepared.
This time, Slytherin went on the attack.
The Slytherin Chasers looked like gorillas—well, all of Slytherin did, really—but they could at least pass the Quaffle among themselves.
But they were so clumsy about it.
I slipped between them, intercepted the pass, and immediately changed direction toward Slytherin’s goal.
Katie was on my left, Angelina on my right.
The Slytherin Chasers who had been attacking were scrambling back, but it was too late for that now.
To delay our counterattack, a Bludger sent by Slytherin’s Beater came flying at me.
I ducked my head and dodged it easily.
Now there was only the Keeper left.
Unless you were an idiot, there was no way to miss a goal in a three-on-one.
"Gryffindor scores again! They’re pulling ahead 30 to 0!"
*
The match was well underway.
Slytherin had gotten a few chances on offense, but thanks to Wood’s almost supernatural defense, as if he’d rather die than lose, they still hadn’t scored a single goal.
The current score was 90 to 0.
Looking around the pitch a little, I saw Professor Snape in the faculty stands muttering a spell. And behind him, Quirrell was doing the same.
Looking back at Harry, he was, as expected, hanging on for dear life on his broom.
He won’t die. Hermione will cause a scene and save him anyway, and even if something goes wrong, it doesn’t matter.
How many professors are there here?
If anything happens to Harry, it’s the professors’ fault, not mine.
So now it was time to do my job.
"Katie, here!"
I moved in beside Katie, who had broken through on her own.
That way, from the Keeper’s perspective, there was no way to stop both of us.
Now all that was left was a battle of nerves. Though to be honest, it wasn’t really a battle you could lose.
In the end, the score widened to 100 to 0.
The Slytherin stands were barely keeping their cheers going with grim faces.
By contrast, the Gryffindor stands looked like a festival had broken out.
More time passed.
The score was 120 to 0.
Wood’s saves played a part in keeping them from scoring, but even more important was the fact that I’d shut down almost all of Slytherin’s attacks with my insane level of activity.
Of course, it wasn’t all my own skill. The difference in brooms was just too big.
Quidditch isn’t a Muggle sport, so being active doesn’t really drain your stamina much.
After all, the broom does the flying for you. What matters more than stamina is a body that can handle high speed, a body that can withstand rough contact, and a body that can smash the other side to pieces in return.
So even though Lee Jordan had mocked them as gorillas, Slytherin had made a fairly reasonable choice in their players.
Still, they couldn’t match me.
They had no muscle at all, just fat.
These wizards never exercise.
Why would they, when they can just use magic?
People like me, who deliberately train their bodies, are treated like oddballs.
I’d already tangled with a few of them, and aside from the upper years, I could probably beat the rest.
More time passed.
Seeing Harry climbing back onto his broom meant Hermione had succeeded.
I joined the attack again and widened the score even further.
Now it was 150 to 0.
Even if Slytherin caught the Snitch now, the match would only end in a tie.
But Harry, a born Seeker, wasn’t going to lose to some nameless Slytherin Seeker. Not unless he got hit by a bewitched Bludger or a Dementor showed up.
Harry suddenly accelerated hard, which meant he must have spotted the Snitch.
I had to score one more goal before he caught it.
That would make it even more humiliating.
We could mock them for catching the Snitch and still losing by that much. Just how big a skill gap would that take?
We had to settle Professor McGonagall’s grudge, didn’t we?
What? Professor Snape is my master?
Since when does sportsmanship matter with a master? First you crush them, then you talk.
I can deal with Professor Snape’s wrath tomorrow. That’s tomorrow’s me’s problem, not today’s.
Angelina got the ball.
"Angelina, here!"
Maybe because they were now convinced of my skill, my teammates were passing the ball much faster.
I caught it and immediately went for a solo breakaway.
If all brooms were the same, I wouldn’t pull a crazy stunt like this, but my broom was a brand-new Nimbus 2000. It couldn’t be compared to the rusty old brooms those players had barely managed to get their hands on.
Under the overwhelming speed of a top-of-the-line broom, the Slytherin Chasers were broken through in no time.
The Slytherin Beater hesitated over whether to send the Bludger at me or Harry, and in the end chose Harry.
Fine by me.
The other Beater tried to block me with his body, but it was useless.
I jerked my broom upward and shot into the air, leaving the Beater looking like a dog chasing after a chicken.
Far ahead, Harry was diving hard. It looked like he was just about to catch the Snitch.
Now I wasn’t fighting Slytherin anymore. I was fighting Harry. My goal was to score before he did.
I started my own dive immediately.
The opposing Keeper tried to stop me, but it was pointless.
The moment I drove the Quaffle through the goal hoops, the final whistle blew.
That meant I’d won.
The final score was 310 to 0.
A crushing victory for Gryffindor.
Cheers were echoing from the Gryffindor stands. More than half the people in the Slytherin stands had already left.
The Gryffindor team was circling the pitch in celebration.
So there was only one place I needed to go.
"Hera, how was I?"
"You were amazing, Len!"
As I got close to the stands, Hermione hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.
The crowd let out cheers mixed with laughter at the adorable little display of affection.
Hermione seemed to realize what she’d just done a moment too late, and her face turned bright red.
I carried the flustered girl on my back and headed to the VIP seats.
There, Professor McGonagall was smiling brightly.
Professor Snape beside her wore an expression like he’d bitten into something rotten. He looked like he wanted to see me in a private lesson later, but that was tomorrow’s me’s problem, so I didn’t care.
I gave Professor McGonagall a crisp salute, and she returned it.
*
An hour after the match ended.
The Gryffindor common room.
"Strongest Gryffindor will win, waaaah~!"
"Is Leonard a god?"
"Is a god Leonard?"
"Hey, you little punk, do you think you can call Leonard that?"
Gryffindor, after recording a historic blowout victory, threw a wild party.
Fred and George had stormed into the kitchen the moment the match ended and brought back food.
Even Professor McGonagall had given us a gift of butterbeer she’d bought from the Three Broomsticks, which meant she’d prepared it in advance regardless of whether we won or lost.
I didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if we’d lost.
While we were playing Quidditch, Ron had gotten Professor McGonagall’s permission to travel by Floo Powder to Diagon Alley and buy a new wand.
"It’s a shame I didn’t get to see those Slytherin bastards get crushed, but it’s fine! Look! This is my new wand. It’s fourteen inches, willow wood, with unicorn hair! The moment I picked it up, I immediately thought, ‘This is really my wand,’ you know?"
"Congratulations, Ron. At last you can show your real ability."
"Thanks, Leonard. If you hadn’t told me, I never would have known. My mother also said she wants to thank you. She’s talking with Professor McGonagall in her office right now."
"Oh, really? I’d love to meet her too. Then could you bring your mother to Professor Snape’s office?"
"What? Snape? Why there? That place is a little..."
"It’s about that thing. There’s a reason it has to be there."
"Ah... if that’s the case, then it can’t be helped. All right, let’s do that."
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