No one could have imagined why John flew so well.
Gryffindor returned to the locker room, heads bowed in dejection.
Ron said blankly, "This shouldn't have happened. How did it turn out like this?"
At that moment, he still believed he'd drunk Felix Felicis—everything should have gone his way.
Or was it that Slughorn's Felix Felicis had been a complete failure?
Hermione burst in, clutching her Gryffindor scarf, at a loss for any comforting words.
Losing to Slytherin was bitter—but losing to John somehow felt… inevitable.
She hesitated, then stepped forward. "Harry, Ron… are you okay?"
"No!" Ron snapped irritably. "What, are you here to expose us? Or laugh at us? Even with Felix Felicis, we still couldn't win."
He was restless—furious, really.
After drinking that pumpkin juice and hearing that Malfoy had taken sick leave, he'd truly believed Felix Felicis had made him lucky.
But heaven and hell were separated by a single thought.
John's appearance had given Slytherin an unprecedented surge of morale—so much so that even Urquhart, whose nose had been smashed by a Bludger, simply wiped away the blood and kept flying.
What they had faced hadn't felt like a team of players at all—but a pack of beasts.
They flew faster, aimed more accurately, and the Bludgers they sent came in with vicious force.
It was an invincible team.
"I'm sorry, Ron. Hermione," Harry said bitterly.
He pulled out the small bottle from his pocket, its wax seal still intact. With difficulty, he continued, "I didn't mix it in."
"I wanted Ron to think I had. I knew you were watching, so I pretended to do it."
"Why?" Ron asked, confused. "Why would you do that?"
"I'm sorry, Ron." Harry lowered his head. "I wanted you to get your confidence back—to feel like you were really lucky."
Harry didn't dare look at Ron. He thought Ron would explode again, just like before.
Hermione thought the same.
But the storm he'd expected never came. Ron leaned against a locker and said quietly, "I'm the one who should be apologizing."
Harry looked up and saw the guilt on Ron's face.
"Sorry, mate. I shouldn't have been like that," Ron said, finally realizing how terrible he'd been these past days. "Can you forgive me, Captain?"
Harry stared at him in disbelief.
The two locked eyes. A moment later, they hugged, letting the tension of the past days finally wash away.
"Of course, Ron," Harry said. "But you can't slack off on training."
They exchanged smiles, the frost between them melting away.
Hermione stood off to the side, unsure what to do.
Ron turned to her and met those anxious, uneasy eyes, and he suddenly wanted to slap himself.
He'd been such a bastard lately that he couldn't even bring himself to look her in the eye.
After letting go of Harry, he stopped in front of Hermione, rubbing his fingers together like an awkward schoolboy.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said.
Lifting his head, Ron asked shyly, "Do you… want to go to the library?"
The anxiety on Hermione's face vanished. She broke into a bright smile that struck Ron's heart like a heavy hammer.
"Will you go to the Christmas ball with me?" Hermione asked in return, her smile radiant.
Ron instinctively clutched his chest—his heart was about to leap out. He grinned foolishly. "Of course."
Seeing his friends make up, Harry smiled just as idiotically.
Even though they'd lost the match badly, this outcome wasn't so bad.
A crushing defeat in Quidditch.
Harry called his teammates together, bracing themselves for the glares and abuse they expected from Gryffindor.
It would be what they deserved.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Ron on his left, then met Ginny's eyes on his right.
Then he stepped out of the locker room.
"They're out!"
"Woo—!"
They froze in disbelief.
There were no rotten eggs flying through the air, no shouting in their faces.
What greeted them instead was Gryffindor's applause and cheers.
Harry said blankly, "But… we lost the match."
The exotic beauty Parvati Patil shouted back in annoyance, "Don't be stupid! It's not like we've never lost before, you idiot!"
"But—"
He didn't get to finish. Dean and Seamus rushed over and hoisted him up.
"Come on—"
"That was John Wick."
"We all saw it—you gave it everything."
"And Ron, his arm needs to be checked at the hospital wing."
"Demelza's nose really needs proper treatment."
"…"
Voices came at them from all sides, overlapping in a jumble.
Harry had thought that becoming captain only to lead the team to its first defeat would make him the butt of every joke.
But now, Gryffindor was showing them through action.
Even if admiration for strength and fame was natural among youths, their feelings were sincere—they wouldn't heap abuse on those who truly tried.
Whether in disgrace or in glory.
There were arguments and reconciliations, jokes and pranks…
But Gryffindor was Gryffindor.
There was courage buried deep in their hearts—their bravery, boldness, and straightforward spirit set Gryffindor apart.
"Who's up for throwing a party in the common room?!"
Someone shouted, and everyone immediately echoed the call.
Harry was finally set down. He felt his hand being tugged lightly.
Harry looked back to see both frustration and resolve in Ginny's eyes.
"We'll win it back next time," she said firmly.
Harry looked at her beautiful face, emotions welling in his chest, and nodded just as resolutely.
"We will win it back next time."
Truth be told, the loss wasn't that big.
Strip away the Golden Snitch's 150 points, and they were only behind by forty—four goals.
From seventy down to forty.
If not for John, they might have won.
…
The hospital wing.
"So he just won like that?" Malfoy asked blankly, his neck strapped in a brace.
Goyle and Crabbe nodded. Astoria brought Malfoy a slice of cake from the victory celebration.
Malfoy wore an expression of existential disbelief. Thinking back to when he'd invited John to join the Quidditch team—only to be refused—he realized he'd assumed John simply couldn't fly very well.
Munching on cream cake, Malfoy said bitterly, "John.. you played me."
Report this. We've got an actor here.
Malfoy was on the verge of shutting down entirely. He shot Goyle and Crabbe a look, trying to make them give him and Astoria some space.
The two of them pretended not to see a thing.
In the end, Malfoy had no choice but to lash out with his stubborn good leg, kicking Goyle in the backside and snapping, "Don't you two need to leave?!"
"Daphne told us to keep an eye on you," Goyle said, rubbing the spot he'd been kicked, looking aggrieved. "She said if we dared leave Astoria alone, she'd make us end up like you."
Malfoy: "…"
He was tired. End it all.
As someone who'd injured his neck, Malfoy spent quite a while in the hospital wing.
Right before the Christmas holidays, he finally recovered.
The first thing Malfoy did after getting out was go find John for answers.
"Didn't you say you couldn't fly?" Malfoy demanded, as if John had personally wronged him.
Glancing at Malfoy's now-healed neck, John replied calmly, "I never said I couldn't fly. You just assumed it."
Malfoy thought it over, then grew even more aggrieved—because that was, in fact, exactly what had happened.
"All right, you're back, so I'm stepping down," John said lightly, patting Malfoy on the shoulder. "Try not to lose."
After that stunning victory, the pressure on Malfoy only increased.
...
The day before the holidays.
Slughorn's Christmas party was today.
For a headmaster to host a private gathering—Slughorn truly did give special treatment to outstanding students.
John snapped his fingers, restoring Malfoy's eyebrows to their normal color.
Transfiguration had moved on to human alteration, and this particular assignment was changing eyebrow color.
Unfortunately, Malfoy had little talent for Transfiguration.
"Hello, John," Luna greeted him.
John instinctively glanced at her eyebrows. Right—no color change.
After saying hello, Luna was about to leave.
John asked, "Care to attend a party?"
Luna didn't sound troubled at all as she replied, "I've already accepted Harry's invitation."
"All right," John shrugged, replying as casually as if it were everyday chatter. "Then I'll invite someone else."
"Bye-bye, John." Luna hopped away.
John turned around and saw Malfoy staring in disbelief. He asked, puzzled, "What is it?"
"John, why are you inviting someone else?" Malfoy exclaimed. "You should invite Daphne!"
"She's already an invitee," John said, shooting him a glance. "She doesn't need an invitation to get in."
Malfoy clutched his chest, looking utterly incredulous.
"She may be fierce, but she's the second-most beautiful girl in Slytherin!"
Don't ask why second—because first place obviously belonged to Astoria!
In the end, John still invited Daphne, even though she could have entered without one.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
John and Daphne headed to the headmaster's office.
Slughorn still had some professional ethics—he hadn't commandeered public space.
Come to think of it, the last banquet had also been one where John attended with Daphne.
Daphne had changed into a beautiful silver dress that made her skin look even fairer and her blond hair all the more striking.
Laughter, music, and conversation drifted out of the office.
When they stepped inside, the space was far larger than it should have been.
John could tell at a glance that an Undetectable Extension Charm had been used.
The decorations were lavish—emerald green, deep crimson, and gold draperies hung from the ceiling and along the walls, making the whole place look like an enormous tent.
Which, in fact, it essentially was.
Because John recognized it—it was a Silverhand product, a magical tent.
Setting up a tent inside the office—Slughorn was nothing if not flexible.
Many of the guests at this party weren't from the school at all, which was precisely why Slughorn had chosen to host a private gathering.
In truth, it could be seen as a kind of invisible student perk.
Anyone invited by Slughorn clearly possessed qualities worth attracting or making use of.
For seventh-years about to graduate and sixth-years nearing that point, it was a chance to make an early appearance across various fields.
"John!" Slughorn boomed the moment he saw him, delight evident in his thunderous voice. "Come in, come in—I've got quite a few friends who'd love to meet you."
He then turned to Daphne. "Absolutely lovely, Daphne—just like your mother."
He had taught Daphne's mother as well.
John went over with him, his gaze quickly locking onto one particular person.
"This is Eldred Worple, one of my former students, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Among the Vampires—and of course, his friend Sanguini," Slughorn introduced.
John studied the tall, gaunt man with dark circles beneath his eyes, who looked worn out and perpetually drained of energy.
A vampire.
A real vampire.
________
Urg.. my sleep cycle is cooked💀
o(*￣▽￣*)ブSupport and Read 12 Chapters ahead: Patreon/Dragonel