[Third Person's PoV]
Arthur and Harry found themselves standing side by side on the expansive Quidditch pitch, each clutching a brand-new broomstick with a mixture of pride and anticipation.
Around them, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was already gathered, chatting among themselves or checking their gear. The only one notably missing was Oliver Wood, their captain.
Harry glanced over at Arthur's broom, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Did Professor McGonagall get you a broom too?" he asked excitedly, recalling how she had gifted him his Nimbus 2000.
Arthur shook his head with a smug grin. "Nope. Mine was a gift from Mer-Lynn," he said proudly, holding the broom out for Harry to get a better look. It was sleek, polished to a mirror shine, and had intricate engravings along the handle — definitely not an ordinary broom.
"Whoa… looks brilliant," Harry said, his eyes widening.
The two boys were still admiring each other's brooms when Oliver Wood finally appeared, lugging a large wooden crate in his arms. He set it down with a heavy thud in the center of the group.
"Alright, team," Oliver called out, clapping his hands together. "Today's going to be an important practice session. We'll be getting Potter used to flying in a real match setting — and we're also giving Arthur a shot to try out for the team."
"Oooh, a tryout?" Fred said, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous grin as he approached the newcomers.
George followed close behind, matching his twin's energy. "Tell me it's not for Beater. You're not coming after our spot, are you?" His tone was mock-threatening, but the playful glint in his eyes made it clear he was joking.
"Nope," Oliver said before Arthur or Harry could respond. He began unlocking the crate, the latches clicking loudly. "Potter's our new Seeker — McGonagall made that quite clear. And Arthur here is trying out for Chaser."
Fred and George shared a quick look and identical grins before turning back to Arthur.
"Chaser, huh?" one of them said with an arched brow.
"You'd better hold on to that fancy broom of yours. We'll be sending the Bludgers your way today," the other added, cracking his knuckles ominously.
Arthur didn't back down. He smirked, rising to the challenge. "Bring it on. I'll dodge anything you throw at me."
"Bold words," Fred said, exchanging a nod with George.
"We like bold," George replied, his grin growing wider.
Meanwhile, Harry looked a bit lost. "Wait — a Bludger? What's a Bludger?"
Oliver, now opening the crate, answered, "That's exactly what I'm about to explain." With a loud creak, the lid lifted, revealing four balls inside — each one distinctly different.
"There are four balls used in Quidditch," Oliver began, pointing them out. "Let's start with this one." He reached inside and pulled out a large red ball, about the size of a soccer ball. "This is the Quaffle. The Chasers pass this ball around and try to score by throwing it through one of the opposing team's hoops." He gestured upwards to the towering goalposts — three golden hoops positioned fifty feet in the air at either end of the pitch. "Each goal is worth ten points."
Harry and Arthur nodded along attentively.
"Now, there's one Keeper on each team — that's me for Gryffindor — and my job is to block the Quaffle and stop the other team from scoring."
"Okay," Harry said, trying to memorize everything. "So, three Chasers and one Keeper. Got it. What about the other balls?"
"Let me show you," said Oliver. He handed each of the twins a short wooden bat that resembled a mini baseball club. "Fred. George. You know what to do."
With practiced ease, Oliver released the straps holding one of the two balls — both jet-black and slightly smaller than the Quaffle. The moment the restraints were off, the ball erupted out of the crate with violent force.
"Those are the Bludgers," Oliver said quickly, ducking as one zipped dangerously close to his head. "They're enchanted to fly around and try to knock players off their brooms. That's why each team has two Beaters — Fred and George, in our case — to protect their teammates and redirect the Bludgers toward the opposing team."
As if on cue, Fred batted one of the Bludgers with a loud CRACK, sending it soaring toward George, who deftly intercepted it and knocked it back. The twins continued the back-and-forth, putting on an impressive display of control and timing.
"Bludgers are fast, aggressive, and unpredictable," Oliver added, raising his voice over the noise of the twin's rally. "This is why Beaters are some of the most important players in the game. Without them, it's chaos."
The Bludger suddenly veered off-course, making a beeline for Harry and Arthur. Both boys instinctively ducked again. Fred, laughing, running after it and tackled the ball mid-air, wrestling it down to the ground.
"Gotcha!" Fred grunted, pinning the struggling Bludger while George quickly rushed over down to help him secure it back in the crate.
As the twins strapped the Bludgers down again, panting and grinning from ear to ear.
"Seems simple and exciting enough," Arthur said with a confident grin, resting his broom across his shoulders and draping his arms over it.
Harry turned to him with a disbelieving look, his brow raised. "What part of this is exciting? You're flying around at insane speeds while trying not to get smacked out of the sky! One wrong move and you could fall to your death!"
Arthur just grinned wider, his eyes sparkling with thrill. "Exactly! The risk of a fatal end is what makes it so exciting. It's the thrill of danger that makes the blood rush."
George gave an approving nod. "I like the way you think!"
"You really are a Gryffindor, mate," Fred added, clapping Arthur on the back with a proud chuckle.
Oliver Wood rolled his eyes at the dramatics, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ignore these adrenaline junkies. No one's ever died from a Bludger hit — the worst injury we've had was a broken jaw, and that was because someone wasn't paying attention."
Harry gave a crooked grin and muttered under his breath, "That doesn't mean I can't be the first…"
"Right. Moving on," Oliver said quickly, brushing away Harry's gloomy prediction. He reached into the crate one last time and pulled out a much smaller ball than the others. It was no bigger than a walnut, but gleamed bright gold and had two rapidly fluttering silver wings that buzzed faintly.
"This," he said, holding it carefully between his fingers, "is the Golden Snitch — and it's the most important ball in the game."
Both Arthur and Harry leaned forward with interest.
"It's tiny, wicked fast, and almost impossible to see once it's loose," Oliver explained. "That's where the Seeker comes in. Your job, Potter, is to catch this little guy before the opposing Seeker does. Catching it earns your team a whopping 150 points and ends the match instantly. So, most of the time, the team that catches the Snitch wins."
"Which is why Seekers get fouled constantly," George added knowingly.
Fred nodded. "They're practically targets."
Oliver continued, "A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, and that means matches can go on forever. The record match lasted three months. They had to keep bringing in substitute players just so everyone could sleep in shifts."
"Well, that's the basics," Oliver concluded. "Any questions?"
Arthur raised a hand. "Yeah, just one. What's the point of the game if the Seeker can just end it all with a 150-point score? Like, hypothetically, your team could be winning the entire time, and then the other Seeker grabs the Snitch and bam, you lose. Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of the rest of the team working their butts off?"
Oliver blinked, then actually looked impressed. "That's a good question — you'd be surprised how many people don't think about that. But there's more strategy to it than you'd think. The Chasers still have to score and rack up a solid lead. If we're ahead by more than 150 points, then even if the other Seeker gets the Snitch, we still win. That's why it's a team game. Our Beaters and Harry, as Seeker, will be keeping the other Seeker too busy to find the Snitch while our Chasers work on padding that lead."
"It's also Harry job to get that Snitch before they catch up too much," Oliver said seriously. "It becomes a game of timing, pressure, and positioning. You've got to read the pitch and pick the right moment."
Arthur hummed thoughtfully. "You know… to make things more balanced, they really should've added a time limit. Or only release the Snitch at specific intervals — like, give the teams a five-minute window to catch it or lose the opportunity. That would add a whole new level of tension."
Oliver tilted his head. "Honestly? That's not a bad idea… but unfortunately, I don't make the rules."
Arthur chuckled and shrugged. "Yeah, neither do I."
He gave his broom a casual toss to the ground. It hovered immediately, steady and waiting. Without hesitation, Arthur stepped forward and jumped onto it, landing perfectly balanced, one foot after the other as if he'd been doing it his whole life.
He looked over his shoulder at the others, his smirk still firmly in place. "So, I suppose it's time to have some fun."
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