Because of Director Black's prohibition, Harry knew very little about Quidditch.
Naturally, he was eager for Wood's class.
After Wood finished his detailed, if somewhat confusing, explanation of how to play Quidditch, Harry suddenly asked,
"So, has anyone ever died in a game? I mean, you see how high we fly and how we have to dodge the ball sometimes…"
He tried his best to sound like a complete novice.
"How would that even be possible?" Wood looked surprised. "Quidditch can break your jaw, your arms, or your legs, at most. Even if you fall, the pitch is protected by spells strong enough to prevent serious injury — you won't die." Harry was sure that was exactly Black's plan.
After demonstrating dives, sudden stops, and several other difficult maneuvers, Wood's expression changed from initial doubt about Harry's flying ability to admiration, and finally, to absolute certainty.
"Our names will definitely be engraved on the Quidditch trophy this year," Wood said cheerfully. "You know, I once saw your father's name on the Quidditch trophy, James Potter, right? He was Gryffindor's Chaser."
"I've heard Hagrid say my father was excellent at Quidditch," Harry said.
"It's true; your flying skills run in your blood," Wood said confidently. "So let our little Mr. Potter lead us to victory!"
Wood only taught Harry the rules of Quidditch; he didn't force him to practice immediately.
In his opinion, a genius like Harry could fly around the courtyard on a broomstick even before learning to walk, and he was willing to believe it.
Classes at Hogwarts were never too stressful; at least Harry always had some free time.
But no class had ever bored him as much as Professor Quirrell's rambling, meaningless lectures.
This is the worst professor, he thought.
Sitting at the long Gryffindor table, nibbling on his sandwich, Harry's mind wandered to the crypt beneath the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where he used to hide when he had no lessons.
He was abruptly startled when Hermione, across the table, suddenly exclaimed:
"My goodness, Harry! Ron!"
As if she had made an incredible discovery, she grabbed Harry and Ron, banging her small hand on the huge, ancient book in front of her.
"What is it?" Ron asked, intrigued.
Could there be a hidden treasure in that book? Otherwise, why would Hermione be so surprised and excited?
"I've been searching for almost half a month, ever since I heard about it from Hagrid!" whispered Hermione, her hand still on the book. "Look, I finally found it — there's an article about Harry Potter. Let me see… Ron, who is Gareth Weasley to you?"
"My great-grandfather," Ron replied, shrugging.
Harry, who had not been interested in Hermione's discovery before, immediately looked up.
Good girl, you arrived just in time.
"Your great-grandfather? Ronald…" Hermione's eyes widened. "You never told me you had a great-grandfather like that."
"Actually, I don't know much about him either," said Ron, shrugging.
Hermione cast a discreet glance at Ron before returning her attention to the article.
Harry wanted to ask about Gareth, but hesitated, unsure how to begin. It wasn't how he would ask that worried him, but the fear of hearing bad news.
"Look here, Harry," said Hermione with a smile, pointing to a passage. "Now I understand why Pirraça is so afraid of you! It seems he thinks you're… you! See, he invented a spell to deal with Pirraça —"
"How do you know Pirraça is afraid of Harry?" Ron asked, curious.
"Rony, do you really need me to say it?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Good heavens, haven't you noticed we've never been fooled by Pirraça when we're with Harry? And on the first day of school, when Harry drew his wand and pointed it at him, the guy got so scared he ran away! He must have confused Harry with someone else!"
"Cool," said Ron, now interested. "Can you figure out what the spell is? If we learn it, we'll never be afraid of Pirraça again."
"I'll find out." Hermione's face showed determination, as if she were perched atop a dragon.
Harry opened his mouth, wanting desperately to tell Hermione the spell.
"He's really amazing," Hermione sighed. "It says here he invented this spell in his third year — heavens, learning spells seems so much harder now."
"Let's see what else?" Ron leaned over, sitting beside Hermione to read along with her.
"Look here," Hermione said, pointing to another passage. "I really can't believe it. Ron, your Weasley ancestor was actually friends with a Malfoy ancestor? They even fought together against the Ashbringers…"
"How is that possible?" Ron's nose immediately turned red. "How could my great-grandfather have anything to do with the Malfoys? Don't be ridiculous!"
"See for yourself," Hermione said softly, pushing the book toward Ron and pointing to the passage. "Gareth Weasley, Papiyas Sweeting, Cassandra Malfoy — they all fought alongside Harry to suppress the Ashbringers and quell the goblin rebellion…"
Ron looked at the book carefully, and the text really did say exactly what Hermione had said.
His face turned even redder, and he muttered to himself, "This must be false. How could the Weasleys be friends with the Malfoys?"
"Do you not think the history recorded in the book could be true?" Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"I don't believe it," Ron said stubbornly.
Seeing them stare each other down, neither willing to give in, Harry suddenly said:
"Why don't you just ask him? I mean, your great-grandfather, Mr. Gareth Weasley."
"My great-grandfather died before I was born," Ron whispered. "Not even Bill or Charlie knew him, and he didn't leave a portrait."
Harry felt a sudden pang in his heart.
"Sorry, Ron, I'm sorry…" he murmured.
Gareth was dead? And what about Sebastian and Orminus…?
And Cassandra and Veratia, what happened to them…?
Harry's mind was in turmoil; the sudden news of his old friend's death left him inexplicably somber.
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