Ten minutes passed quickly. As the whistle blew, Kyle raised his arm high and threw the Quaffle at the last second.
The distance proved too far, however, and Harris finally managed to intercept the ball, breaking his "zero" record.
The scoreboard beside the field showed 210 points — Kyle had scored twenty-one goals in just ten minutes. Scoring twice per minute while traversing the entire field to retrieve the ball was a truly remarkable achievement.
The three Quaffles rotating through the drill barely sufficed. Professor McGonagall, watching from the sidelines, eventually had to conjure two more using Transfiguration just to complete the session.
"Merlin's beard, I never want to be a goalkeeper again!" Harris exclaimed after landing, heaving a deep sigh of relief.
During those ten minutes, he had experienced the strange sensation of pain and joy simultaneously.
His joy stemmed from Hufflepuff discovering a genius Chaser. Without question, the second-year student Kyle would be key to winning the Quidditch Cup.
Harris himself ranked among Hogwarts' best Chasers, scoring more than half of Hufflepuff's points in every match.
The problem lay with the other two Chasers, who lacked his skill level, making effective coordination impossible. Nearly every goal came through his efforts alone.
This placed considerable strain on his stamina — the primary reason Hufflepuff struggled in endurance battles.
Another vulnerability existed: if opponents closely marked Harris or if he suffered an injury and left the field, Hufflepuff immediately fell to a disadvantage.
Fortunately, last year they had discovered a brilliant Seeker in Cedric, whose presence searching for the Golden Snitch prevented other houses from dragging matches out too long.
With Kyle joining this year, Hufflepuff's greatest weakness had been fixed in one stroke.
Harris could almost see the Quidditch Cup beckoning to him — how could he not be happy?
As for the pain... that was simple. Anyone who had been made to look foolish for ten minutes straight would feel the same way.
"Captain, it's fortunate you didn't sign up to be the goalkeeper." One player joked, "Otherwise, we might never have won the Quidditch Cup."
"Shut up, Fello!" Harris glared at him, "I think your skills have been slipping lately. Come for special training tomorrow morning at eight."
"Eight o'clock!" Fello's laughter vanished, replaced by a grim expression, "Special training is fine, but could we make it ten? No, nine — nine would work too!"
Hufflepuff students weren't as studious as Ravenclaws, nor did they have the abundant energy of Gryffindors. On weekends, they typically slept until they naturally woke up.
Eight o'clock was simply too early for him.
"No!" Harris snorted coldly, "Remember, eight in the morning. For every minute you're late, you'll practice an extra hour."
With that, he walked straight to the center of the field.
Although Kyle's performance had been perfect, they still needed to go through the motions.
He looked at the remaining two candidates and asked, "Who's next?"
The two fifth-year students exchanged glances and both shook their heads nonchalantly.
One of them shrugged and said, "No need, I withdraw."
Even though Harris had clearly given up toward the end, Kyle's performance was so exceptional that even if his score were halved, neither candidate could match it. There was no point wasting more time.
The other student felt the same way.
"I withdraw too... and stop pretending — just laugh if you want to." As he said this, he was the first to burst into laughter.
Hufflepuff had found another genius, and naturally, he was happy about it.
"Ahem... the professors are watching, be serious." Harris scolded him, putting on a stern face.
Celebrating was fine, but that could wait until they returned to the common room. With professors watching, showing too much enthusiasm wasn't appropriate and might lead to trouble.
Harris contained his excitement and maintained a serious expression.
"Since you've both decided to withdraw..." He approached Kyle and extended his hand, "Congratulations, Kyle. You're officially a Chaser for the team."
"It's my honor, Captain." Kyle shook his hand firmly.
Professor Sprout beamed from the stands, her face radiant like a blooming Venomous Tentacula.
Professor McGonagall, however, clutched her "Advanced Transfiguration Guide" tightly, her body trembling.
The pain was unbearable! Why couldn't a Quidditch talent like this be in Gryffindor?
Minerva knew that with Kyle and Harry Potter together, Gryffindor would be invincible. But alas, he was a Hufflepuff.
Damn that Sorting Hat...
✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭
"Achoo!"
On the eighth floor, in the Headmaster's office, the Sorting Hat suddenly sneezed while composing a new song.
"How curious." Dumbledore said, eyeing it with interest, "Can you catch a cold?"
"I don't know, but probably not, considering I'm just a hat." The Sorting Hat attempted to rub its head with its brim but couldn't reach, so it wiped its mouth instead, "Albus, I think someone must be harboring ill feelings toward me."
"I'd rather believe you've caught a cold." Dumbledore said with a smile, "No student dislikes their own house, as far as I know. If that's true, why would anyone harbor ill feelings toward you?"
"That's true..." the Sorting Hat nodded in agreement. Its decisions were never wrong, "Could I really have caught a cold?"
The Sorting Hat fell into self-doubt. But it was just a hat — when Godric Gryffindor created it, he surely hadn't included such a function!
"Though I don't know if a Pepper-Up Potion would work for you... would you like to try?" Dumbledore approached the Sorting Hat, made a grabbing motion in the air, and a small vial suddenly appeared in his hand, "This is the most effective cold remedy."
"Let's give it a try then." The Sorting Hat thought for a moment and opened its mouth, "By the way, your magic has improved a great deal, Albus."
"Just a little trick, that's all." Dumbledore calmly poured the Pepper-Up Potion onto the Sorting Hat's brim rather than into its mouth.
Since it couldn't actually eat anything, internal consumption was impossible — it could only be applied externally. The potion gradually soaked into the fabric, leaving a large dark brown stain that made the Hat look even more worn.
But neither of them seemed to mind.
"How do you feel?" Dumbledore asked.
"I think... much better." The Sorting Hat pursed its brim, "At least I'm not sneezing anymore."
✭✭✭
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