In the days that followed, the Lockhart incident continued to spread, and within less than a week, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become a complete joke.
Lockhart was helpless—he tried to win back his "popularity," but the students weren't buying it. Unless he gave up turning his classes into fan meetings and actually demonstrated some of his so-called brilliant magic, no one would believe him.
The only magic Lockhart was still truly skilled at was the Memory Charm. Unfortunately, he couldn't exactly show the students his mastery of that spell—it was his livelihood, and far too shady to reveal.
The first weekend at Hogwarts arrived as scheduled. That morning, before the sky was even fully bright, the girls' dormitory was already bustling.
Angelina and Alicia were pulling on their Quidditch robes, while little Katie sat on her bed, nodding off, her soul and body both not quite awake yet.
Angelina, already dressed, gave a huge yawn, then walked over and shook Katie awake so she could get into her own robe.
The noise in the dorm woke Eda. She squinted toward the window, where a soft pink-gold sky was veiled in a thin mist. Still half asleep, she mumbled, "Isn't today Saturday? Why are you all up so early?"
"Oliver—Oliver Wood, that cursed man—he's making us go train on the pitch!" Alicia's voice was weary, but her words were full of resentment. "It's Saturday! Why can't he just let us sleep for once?"
Winning the Quidditch Cup last year had let Wood taste the sweetness of victory. Once you've had a taste of that, you never want to suffer defeat again. So, in order to secure a repeat championship, Wood had come up with the idea of training more often and training earlier.
This was only the first week of term, the team tryouts hadn't even officially started yet, and already Wood was putting Gryffindor through training. That alone showed just how determined he was to defend the Cup.
Angelina and the other two complained about Wood a little more, but in the end they had no choice but to head off to training, leaving only Eda in the dorm, wide awake after being disturbed.
After sitting in a daze for a few minutes, Eda lay back down, wrapping herself tightly in her blanket. She had hoped to sleep for a few more hours, but after tossing and turning for a long while, she just couldn't fall back asleep.
When the sun finally rose, Eda left the warmth of her bed. After washing up, she pulled on a thicker cloak before heading to the Great Hall.
After breakfast, as she walked down the grassy slope toward the Quidditch pitch, Eda ran into Ron and Hermione, who were also heading there, so the three went together.
Suddenly, Eda asked, "Ron, why have you been avoiding me lately? Did you do something guilty?"
Since the start of term, Harry had been fairly normal, but Ron always seemed to be dodging her. Every time he saw Eda, he would say only a word or two before rushing away. Once or twice was nothing, but after it happened again and again, Eda began to suspect something.
How was it that Ron always had something urgent to do whenever he saw her? Eda was convinced there had to be a reason.
"No, it's just… I've been feeling guilty because of my dad, that's all," Ron said, his face as red as his hair. "Why are you being so suspicious lately? Or is that just how all you girls are?"
Both Eda and Hermione turned to look at Ron, their eyes sharp as knives digging into him. Realizing he had said the wrong thing and managed to offend both girls at once, Ron immediately shut his mouth and said no more.
When they arrived at the pitch, the three of them didn't see Gryffindor practicing. Instead, they saw the Gryffindor team in red robes facing off against Slytherin in green. Every Slytherin stood there arrogantly, each holding a brand-new broomstick.
"That's the newest model—Nimbus 2001. They're really expensive! How does Slytherin have one for everyone?" Ron muttered. "Compared to the Nimbus 2001, the brooms we've got look like firewood sticks."
The three of them walked down onto the field to join the Gryffindor players and ask what was going on.
The Slytherin team also noticed Eda coming over, and their expressions turned sour. If there were a vote for the most hated Gryffindor student, Eda would win by a landslide—most of those votes coming from Slytherin, of course.
Seeing new arrivals, Draco Malfoy immediately started boasting about his family's wealth.
Seven brand-new Nimbus 2001s, he announced, were just a gift from his father to the team—and on top of that, he himself was the new Seeker.
"What about Terence Higgs?" Eda suddenly asked. "He hasn't graduated yet, has he? What a shame. On your whole team, only he and Pucey ever looked like real players."
The Slytherin players said nothing. None of them thought Eda was genuinely curious about whether Higgs had graduated—she was clearly mocking them for throwing aside a former teammate just for the sake of a broom.
Malfoy glared at Eda. Her words had cut across his bragging and, worse, hit home—asking about Higgs was really just calling him out, saying he only made the team because money bought his place.
"Yes, it's a shame," Malfoy said coldly. "But maybe you lot should worry more about yourselves. Perhaps the Gryffindor team could scrape up some gold too—buy yourselves a few new brooms. You could trade in those Cleansweep Fives you're using. I'm sure a museum would pay to display them."
On the Gryffindor team, aside from Harry's Nimbus 2000, everyone else was flying Cleansweeps or Comets of similar quality—and the twins were still stuck with their old Cleansweep Fives, completely outclassed by the Nimbus 2001s.
Malfoy grinned smugly, pleased with his clever little joke, but none of the Slytherins behind him were laughing. Flint even shifted slightly, as if to shield Malfoy with his own body.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to pay their way in," Hermione snapped sharply. "Every one of them earned their place with talent."
Malfoy's smug expression faltered. His face twisted with anger as he spat, "No one asked you, you filthy little Mudblood!"
The words exploded through the air like a curse. It was an exceptionally vile insult—and it managed to hit two people at once.
Flint immediately shoved Malfoy behind him, blocking Fred and George from getting at him. The other Slytherins stepped up too, forming a barrier to keep Malfoy away from the Gryffindors.
"How dare you!" Alicia shouted, her voice ringing with fury.
Ron yanked his wand out from his robes, roaring, "You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" He jabbed it at Malfoy's face, his arm thrusting forward under Flint's arm in his rage.
But before Ron could even get a spell out, his hand was caught and held fast—Eda had grabbed him.
"Ronald Weasley," Eda said evenly, "can you tell me what's wrong with your wand?"
"Ah.. um.."
"Forget it, we'll talk later."
Eda stepped right up in front of Flint. Though she was much smaller than the burly Slytherin captain, her gaze was so sharp that Flint couldn't meet her eyes.
"Move," Eda said.
The Gryffindor players immediately lined up behind her, showing with their stance whose side they were on. Fred and George were practically itching for a fight—they had nearly managed to land a hit on Malfoy just moments before.
Compared to the high-spirited Gryffindors, the Slytherins looked far less confident. Except for the loud-mouthed Malfoy, every single one of them was staring warily at Eda, as though terrified she might draw her wand at any moment.
Flint opened his mouth to speak, but Eda cut him off. "While I'm still speaking nicely—move!"
At first, Eda hadn't wanted to interfere in the grudge between Harry and Malfoy. Malfoy was just a spoiled brat, after all.
But he had crossed her bottom line again and again. This was no longer just childish insolence or a sharp tongue—this was something she couldn't overlook.
Flint still didn't move, keeping Malfoy hidden behind his bulk. Whether it was because of family ties or the lure of the new broomsticks, Flint couldn't simply hand Malfoy over to Gryffindor.
At the very least, he had to put on a show of protecting him.
The rest of the Slytherin team shared the same thoughts.
For the sake of Malfoy, for the sake of their new Nimbus 2001s, they could stomach a fight with Gryffindor. But taking a beating on Malfoy's behalf? That wasn't worth it.
If blame was to be laid, it belonged squarely on Malfoy himself. As a Slytherin, he had no sense at all—acting purely on impulse, provoking someone no student at Hogwarts could afford to provoke. That was no Slytherin cunning, just stupidity.
Some of the Slytherins even found themselves thinking: if only Twist were pure-blood.
If she had been sorted into Slytherin, how good that would have been. Such a talented witch—wasted on not being pure-blood. What a pity.
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