[Third Person's PoV]
"Yes, it certainly is awkward, isn't it, Mr. King?" Professor McGonagall said dryly, her tone laced with sarcasm as she fixed Arthur with a pointed look over her spectacles.
Arthur chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ha ha… yes, well, my apologies then, Professor."
"You are forgiven, Mr. King," she replied with a sigh, "but do be so kind as to knock next time before barging into a room, will you?"
"I'll take your words to heart, Professor," Arthur said politely, bowing his head slightly in deference.
There was a short pause before Arthur, ever the opportunist, tilted his head with a thoughtful look. "So… since Harry's being allowed to play Quidditch despite being a first year, does that mean other first years are allowed to try out as well?"
McGonagall's expression didn't change. "Certainly not," she replied crisply. "Mr. Potter is being given an exception due to a recommendation. That is all."
"Then," Arthur said with a hopeful tone, "could you recommend me too? Humbly speaking, I am rather good at flying."
Harry quickly jumped in to support him. "It's true, Professor! You should've seen how he and Lance helped save Neville. Arthur's flying is really good."
Arthur glanced at Harry, giving him a mental thumbs-up. 'Nice assist, Harry!'
McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "No offense, Mr. Potter, but if I recall correctly, this is the first time you've officially witnessed someone flying. So your opinion that Mr. King is 'quite good' doesn't carry much objective weight."
Harry winced and offered Arthur a sheepish look, his eyes silently apologizing. 'I tried.'
Arthur shot him a wink in return. 'Don't worry—leave it to me.'
He turned back to McGonagall and flashed a mischievous grin. "Still, Professor, he was skilled enough that you thought he was worth placing on the Quidditch team. That's got to count for something, right?"
Before McGonagall could respond, Oliver Wood stepped in, clearly intrigued by the conversation. "If I may, Professor?" he said, then looked to Arthur. "Just being good at flying doesn't necessarily mean you're good at Quidditch. It's a lot more than just zooming around. You need reflexes, stamina, upper body strength. Physical capability matters."
Arthur blinked and turned to glance meaningfully at Harry. 'He's quite literally malnourished…' he thought dryly.
"Who says I'm not physically up to it?" Arthur countered. "Didn't I just get detention the other day for sword-dueling Lance in the courtyard?"
Oliver's eyes widened. "Wait a minute, you're that first year everyone's been talking about?"
Arthur's grin widened. "Oh, so you have heard of me."
Oliver rolled his eyes. "Everyone's heard of you by now. You're the madman who actually dueled someone with a real sword during your first week. And yeah, I heard you were insanely good. Not gonna lie, I'm actually considering letting you try out, if what I heard is true I have no doubt you've got the power skills for the pitch."
Arthur leaned back a bit, smug. "Glad to hear it."
"Mr. Wood, need I remind you that you already have a full roster on your team," Professor McGonagall said with clear exasperation. "Adding Mr. Potter, of course, means there's simply no room for Mr. King over here."
"Ugh… You make a good point, Professor," Oliver grumbled, rubbing his forehead in defeat.
"I don't mind being a substitute," Arthur chimed in, casually raising his hand.
Oliver blinked. "A substitute?"
"Yeah!" Arthur said, perking up. "When one of your players is indisposed and can't play, I step in and save the day."
Oliver gave him a flat look. "I know what a substitute is. I'm just surprised you'd be okay with it. You might not even get to play most of the season."
Arthur shrugged with a confident grin. "I don't care. As long as I get to fly at least once in an actual game, I'm good. Besides, I can be your secret weapon. You know, bring me in when you're losing or something dramatic like that."
Oliver chuckled. "You sure are confident in your skills, aren't you?"
Arthur wiggled his fingers dramatically. "Here's a fun fact—I'm ambidextrous."
Harry blinked, clearly confused. "What's that mean?"
"It means I can use both hands equally well," Arthur explained. "Left, right, doesn't matter. I'm good with both."
Oliver turned back toward McGonagall, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. "Come on, Professor, you have to let him try out. Just once. He doesn't even need to be a regular player!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wood, but I can't make another exception," McGonagall said, her tone laced with finality. "If I allow Mr. King as well as Mr. Potter, then I'd have to allow every first year who thinks they can fly a broom to try out."
"Come on, Professor," Arthur pleaded, clasping his hands together with exaggerated earnestness. "Am I not your best student? Surely that should count for something?"
"The only thing that counts for," McGonagall replied dryly, "is me not giving you detention for skipping class."
Arthur let out a weak laugh but didn't press further. McGonagall stared at him for a few long seconds, her sharp eyes scrutinizing his hopeful expression. Then she glanced at Oliver, who clearly wanted to see what all the fuss around "the crazy first year" was about. She sighed once more, deeper this time, and finally looked at Harry—who, bless him, seemed utterly lost in space.
"Oh, fine!" she said with a weary shake of her head.
"Yes!" Arthur cheered, pumping his fist into the air in victory.
McGonagall gave him a look sharp enough to slice parchment, and Arthur instantly straightened, clearing his throat and composing himself.
"I mean—thank you, Professor," he said in his most formal voice. "I am eternally grateful for your kindness, your benevolence, your unmatched generosity—"
"Alright, alright," McGonagall interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll speak with Professor Dumbledore to see if we can't make a rare exception to the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a stronger team than last year. Flattened by Slytherin—we were lucky they didn't set the field on fire. I couldn't look Severus Snape in the eye for weeks."
She turned to Harry, her expression suddenly serious. "I expect to hear that you're training hard, Potter. Otherwise, I might change my mind and give you detention instead of a broom."
Then, unexpectedly, her features softened, and a gentle smile touched her lips.
"Your father would've been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."
"You're joking," Harry whispered in awe.
The four of them continued talking for a bit—McGonagall explaining the practice schedule starting next week, what she expected from them, and how proud she was to have hope for Gryffindor's team again. Finally, with a wave of her hand, she ushered them out of the room and sent them off to resume their classes.
---
As Arthur and Harry walked through the corridors on their way back to class, Harry turned to him with a quiet smile.
"Thanks," he said sincerely.
Arthur blinked. "Huh? For what?"
"You barged in to defend me. You thought I was going to get punished, didn't you? And you stood up for me anyway. It means a lot."
Arthur opened his mouth… and then shut it again.
The truth was, he hadn't really been defending Harry at first—he just wanted to join the team. But seeing the grateful expression on Harry's face, the warmth in his eyes, Arthur couldn't bring himself to ruin it.
Instead, he just gave Harry a light pat on the shoulder and offered a crooked, slightly guilty smile.
"Sure," Arthur said softly. "No problem."
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