Gryffindor Common Room – 10:39 PM
Location: A cozy corner under a tapestry of Godric Gryffindor dramatically wrestling a wyvern on fire. Because Gryffindors are extra like that.
Mood: Vibes immaculate. Homework questionable. Chaos imminent.
Harry Potter sat on one of the squishy old couches near the fireplace, legs stretched out like a kid who owned the castle and knew it. A textbook lay open on his lap, mostly for decoration. The actual academic labor was being outsourced to his magical companion.
Jim, the magical staff turned quill, was scribbling furiously in Harry's notebook with all the flair of a Broadway performer mid-finale. Ink flew. Paper trembled. The writing had panache.
"We're learning about bezoars again," Jim announced telepathically, his voice echoing in Harry's head like he was on a game show. "Because apparently stomach rocks are Hogwarts's idea of a good time. Seriously, I've seen apocalypses with more excitement."
Ron Weasley let out a soul-deep groan from across the table, head dropping dramatically onto his half-finished essay.
"Why do we have to do homework? It's barbaric. First years shouldn't be tortured like this."
Hermione, not even looking up from her perfectly neat parchment, sniffed. "Because some of us weren't born with divine cheat codes and a literal god for a father."
"Right," Ron grumbled, glaring at his quill like it had personally betrayed him. "Perks of being the son of Loki. And the Monkey King. And... what was the third one?"
Neville looked up timidly. "And the Moon goddess mum?"
Harry grinned, casually summoning a chocolate frog with a flick of his fingers. "Raised by Artemis, son of Loki, with a little Monkey King magic in the bloodstream. I'm basically Hogwarts's worst student nightmare. Here for the vibes, not the grades."
Jim: "Also here for the snacks, the sass, and the potential for mass magical disruption. We do not aim for average in this household."
Ron narrowed his eyes. "Okay, I get that your Aunt Diana is Artemis. Very mysterious, very cool. But who in Merlin's mismatched socks is Ikol Rampestreker?"
Hermione perked up instantly, looking both smug and slightly offended it took Ron this long to ask.
"Honestly, Ron. 'Ikol' is just 'Loki' backwards. And 'Rampestreker' is Norwegian. It literally means 'Mischief.' It's an alias. Like if your dad was a shapeshifting trickster god who also had a flair for Scandinavian flair and dramatic pseudonyms."
Jim: "It's called branding, Hermione. Very important in divine PR. You don't get temples without a good name and a killer tagline."
Ron blinked. "Wait, so your dad's an ancient Norse god and a prankster with a fake IKEA-sounding last name?"
Harry raised his hands. "I contain multitudes."
Enter Fred and George Weasley, who may have been across the room ten seconds ago, but now draped themselves onto the couch with the precision of professional chaos agents.
"Mate," said Fred reverently, "you're the youngest Seeker in a century."
"Practically a legend," added George.
"Your mum could shoot down satellites with a silver arrow," said Fred.
"Your dad could charm the pants off a banshee," said George.
"And you have a literal glitter cloud that follows you around like a very sparkly emotional support animal."
"You're obnoxiously cool," they said in unison.
Harry gave a modest shrug. "It's a curse, really."
Fred leaned in. "But serious question: what about the broomstick?"
George nodded solemnly. "You buy a broom, and that sentient cloud of yours is gonna get jealous and start raining glitter vengeance on the castle."
Harry just pointed toward the fireplace.
Aether, the aforementioned sentient mood-cloud, was perched there in puffball form, vaguely cat-shaped. At Harry's gesture, he perked up, twinkled ominously, then shimmered.
With a dramatic swirl of light, sparkles, and unspoken attitude, Aether transformed into a broomstick.
Not just any broomstick.
Aether became The Broomstick.
Long, sleek, glowing faintly at the core, with obsidian-inlaid runes and fire-accented metalwork. The handle curved like a blade, and the entire thing radiated the exact vibe of a mythical weapon that might also be used to win races, rob banks, or seduce other magical transport.
Fred stared. "Sweet Circe on a skateboard."
George's jaw dropped. "That broom has rizz."
Ron just exhaled dramatically. "Okay. Okay, that's impressive. But it still just looks shiny unless it can fly like the wind and roast marshmallows on command."
Harry grinned. "Jim? You wanna do your thing?"
Jim, who had been humming the James Bond theme for the last minute, burst out of quill form with a noise somewhere between a drumroll and a kazoo.
SNAP.
Aether shimmered again as a glamour rolled over him like a wave.
Now the broom looked like it had just driven out of a James Cameron sci-fi epic. Crimson chassis. Runes that pulsed with raw speed. There was even a completely useless spoiler on the back. Because drama.
Jim (in full announcer voice): "Behold: the Aetherius Mark I! Sleeker than a firebolt, faster than a dementor at a buffet, and sexier than a Veela with a wand license! Void warranty voided by touching."
Hermione facepalmed. "We are going to be expelled."
Neville, who had somehow acquired popcorn, smiled. "Worth it."
Fred reached out reverently. "Can I touch it?"
Harry tossed it to him like it was a tennis ball. "Take it for a spin tomorrow. Just don't crash into a centaur again."
"That was once!" Fred protested.
"Twice," said George helpfully.
Aether buzzed like an offended hairdryer.
Ron slumped back in his chair. "I hate how cool your life is."
Jim: "And we haven't even gotten to the part with the cursed toilet or the exploding jellybeans. Stay tuned, folks!"
And just like that, the night descended into the kind of magical mischief that would live forever in Gryffindor memory.
Homework forgotten. Laughter thick in the air. The gods were definitely watching.
And tomorrow, Hogwarts was about to witness the seeker debut of a boy who rode clouds, talked to chaos, and had a quill with a Broadway ego.
—
The Next Morning – Hogwarts Grounds – 9:03 AM
Location: Quidditch Changing Room, somewhere between Excited and Mildly Intimidated
Mood: One part adrenaline, two parts broom-envy, with a side of divinely-conjured swagger
Harry Potter strolled down to the Quidditch pitch like he had a soundtrack following him—something with drums, maybe a little electric guitar, and possibly a phoenix shrieking in harmony.
Okay, fine. The soundtrack was mostly in his head. And also Jim's.
"You need theme music," Jim declared telepathically, his voice so loud in Harry's brain it should've come with a volume warning. "Something operatic. Something with brass. Something that says: 'I can dodge Bludgers and existential crises.'"
Harry snorted.
Fred and George flanked him, walking like bodyguards escorting a celebrity through a red carpet made of morning dew. Floating beside them was the Aetherius Mark I, a broom so sleek and smug it practically winked at every gust of wind.
Fred yawned. "You nervous?"
"Oliver's been vibrating since sunrise," George added. "Pretty sure I saw him polishing his cleats with a toothbrush."
"I'm not nervous," Harry said. "I'm just wondering if polyester counts as medieval torture."
Aether, the golden cloud-turned-broom, made a low thrumming noise. A purr. A broomstick purr. Probably illegal in nine countries.
Jim: "Polyester is an affront to both fashion and comfort. You deserve better. You deserve velvet-lined battle armor and a cloak that flutters dramatically on command."
"You say that like I don't already own it," Harry muttered.
The door to the changing room swung open and there stood Oliver Wood, clipboard clutched like it held the secrets of the universe. Hair windswept. Eyes manic. Voice a full octave higher than yesterday.
"You're here! Brilliant! Glorious! Have you got your broom? Please tell me it's not another Comet Two-Sixty. I swear, if someone brings me a Comet again, I will hex them into next Tuesday and give them a free calendar."
Harry gestured to Aetherius.
Oliver blinked. "Is that... floating?"
"He does that."
"And it's glowing."
"Also normal."
Jim: "Built from storm essence, fallen star fragments, and raw swagger. Shines like the future and handles like a Ferrari in zero-G."
Fred grinned. "Turns into a cloud when he's off-duty."
George added, "Gets jealous if you praise other brooms."
Aether made a smug little swirl in the air.
Oliver looked personally victimized. "This broom has more personality than half our fourth years."
Jim: "And better hygiene."
Before Oliver could spiral further into broom-related identity crisis, the rest of the Gryffindor team strolled in.
Angelina Johnson led the charge, tall, graceful, and rocking a look that said: I know I'm cooler than you, and I'm not sorry. "If you give another broom speech, Wood, I'm transferring to Beauxbatons."
"They don't even have a full league!" Oliver protested.
Alicia Spinnet followed close behind, flipping her braid like she was ready to duel. "Still a better pitch than 'don't die, and try not to drop the Quaffle this time.'"
Katie Bell bounced in next, practically glowing. Second-year energy, bright eyes, and the kind of enthusiasm that could power the Hogwarts Express.
Oliver cleared his throat. "Right. Everyone. This is Harry Potter. Our new Seeker. Yes, that Harry Potter."
Harry gave a lazy salute. "Hi. I also bake."
Angelina raised an eyebrow. "Can he fly, or is he just here for PR?"
"He can dodge three staircases, Peeves, and Filch on a bad day," Fred said proudly.
"And he once flew into the library window to avoid a howler," George added.
Jim: "And his hair has magical anti-wind properties. You're welcome."
Katie gawked at Aether. "Is that your broom?"
"Technically, he's a sentient mood-cloud with performance issues if he's not praised enough," Harry said.
Aether did a loop-the-loop and sparkled dramatically.
Angelina stepped closer. "Looks like it could break the sound barrier."
Jim: "It did. Once. We also broke reality. Small hiccup."
Alicia tilted her head. "So, you broody and mysterious like most Seekers, or more... sparkly chaos gremlin?"
"Bit of both," Harry said. "Depends on how well I've slept and whether anyone insulted my quill."
Jim: "Excuse you, I am a magical artifact forged from celestial fire and divine sass. I will not be reduced to 'quill.'"
Oliver clapped his hands. "Right, alright. Great vibes, team. Practice starts in ten. Grab your gear. No drama."
Aether made a soft buzzing noise and nudged Harry's shoulder.
Harry patted him like a loyal pet. "Easy, boy. No need to show off too hard. Just humiliate a Slytherin or two and we're good."
Jim: "If a Slytherin sneers at us, I am summoning my battle kazoo."
"You don't have a battle kazoo."
Jim: "Yet."
Katie turned to George. "Did his broom just... purr?"
George nodded solemnly. "He's house-trained too. Mostly."
Fred: "Except that one time he tried to pee glitter on the Whomping Willow."
Aether made a sound that was either a sulk or a protest.
And with that, Harry Potter stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. Divine broom in hand. Mischief in his blood. Monkey King energy in his stride. Jim whispering firecracker insults and motivational threats directly into his thoughts.
The game was about to get weird. And Hogwarts? Hogwarts wasn't ready.
—
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch – 9:26 AM
Location: Somewhere between midair mayhem and magical bootcamp
Mood: Very much "Let's get dangerous," with an undercurrent of Aether plotting a musical number
By the time Harry stepped onto the pitch, he didn't just look like a Seeker. He looked like the main character.
His Quidditch robes were red and gold masterpieces, kissed by enchantments, possibly glamoured by a fashion-forward Valkyrie. The boots looked like they came with an afterburner setting. His gloves had runes that softly pulsed, and there might've been glitter woven into the fabric.
"Strategic glitter," Jim whispered telepathically, voice full of mischief and smug satisfaction. "I added a touch of divine sparkle. You're welcome."
Aether, hovering beside Harry, had shifted into his prime form—a golden broom with curves that could make Thunderbolt models cry and sleek edges that whispered things like Mach Five and maybe light-speed on Tuesdays. He did a lazy twirl mid-air, vibrating like he was too excited to exist in three dimensions.
Fred whistled. "That broom's got more attitude than a Slytherin Prefect with a superiority complex."
George nodded solemnly. "And better hair."
Oliver Wood stood at the center of the pitch, already in full sports-lecture mode. His clipboard was clutched like a sacred artifact, and his eyes had the barely-contained mania of someone who hadn't slept but had downed three cups of wizard espresso.
"Potter!" Oliver called out, jogging over like a Golden Retriever in cleats. "Gear looks phenomenal. Your broom… is possibly sentient and judging me. Excellent. Time for Quidditch 101: Now With Actual Death Risks."
Harry sauntered over, and Aether drifted behind him like an obedient but smug thundercloud. Fred and George drifted closer, sensing chaos potential like sharks sniffing blood.
"Right," Oliver began, pointing to the open chest of Quidditch balls. "Seven players on a team. Three Chasers—Angelina, Alicia, Katie—throw this—" He held up the Quaffle, a red ball the size of a melon. "—through those hoops. Ten points a goal."
Katie Bell jogged by, snatched the Quaffle out of his hands mid-stride, and waved. "Thanks, Coach!"
Oliver blinked. "Right. Yes. Then we have Bludgers." He popped the trunk lid. Two iron balls burst free like they were escaping Azkaban. One zipped past Oliver's ear.
Fred caught it with a bat and spun it toward George, who whacked it skyward without breaking conversation.
"Beaters," Oliver said casually, as if two death-orbs weren't trying to commit homicide, "handle those. Their job is to protect their team and commit mild acts of violence. Legally."
Jim piped up in Harry's head. "Bludgers: nature's way of reminding you your bones are breakable."
Harry nodded sagely. "So, basically flying dodgeball with a grudge."
Oliver pointed to himself. "I'm Keeper. I protect the hoops, yell instructions, and experience chronic stress."
"And premature gray hair," George added helpfully.
"And caffeine-induced eye twitching," Fred chimed in.
Oliver ignored them like a pro. "Now. The Snitch." He reached into the chest like he was drawing Excalibur. The Golden Snitch fluttered in his palm—a golden sphere with delicate, silver wings twitching like it had somewhere better to be.
"This little menace ends the game. Worth one hundred and fifty points. Your job, Harry, is to catch it before the other Seeker does. If you don't, we cry and blame Slytherin."
Jim: "It's basically hide and seek, but if the ball was enchanted with ADHD and god issues."
Oliver held the Snitch up to eye level. It flapped lazily, turned to look at Harry, and—Harry swore—winked.
Then it bolted.
"Go get it!" Oliver shouted.
Harry mounted Aether in one smooth movement.
Jim, now vibrating like he'd mainlined liquid sugar, screamed telepathically: "INTRODUCING THE MONKEY KING OF MESSY GLORY! THE SEEKER OF SASS! THE PUNISHER OF SMUG BALLS! HARRY 'ACTUAL SON OF LOKI AND ARTEMIS' POTTER!"
"Jim, tone it down—"
"NO. THIS IS OUR SUPERHERO ORIGIN MONTAGE!"
Harry leaned forward. "Let's go, Aether. Let's be legends."
Aether launched.
Not flew. Launched.
There was a thunderclap, a sonic ripple, and the vague sense that several laws of physics had just been pantsed. The broom spiraled into the air with Harry perched effortlessly atop it, like he belonged in the sky.
Below, Oliver's clipboard flew out of his hands and smacked him in the face.
"Merlin's—he launched," Oliver muttered.
Fred whooped. "That's our boy!"
George shouted, "The sky just filed a restraining order!"
Angelina shaded her eyes. "Alright, Flyboy. Impress me."
Alicia muttered, "Someone's compensating for something."
Katie just grinned. "I like him."
High above the pitch, Harry sliced through the clouds. The wind tore past his ears, but Aether hummed like a dream. The sky bent around them. Below, the pitch looked like a toy.
Jim: "Fly like you stole something. Because technically, that's what Aether's doing right now to reality."
Harry narrowed his eyes. Somewhere up here, the Snitch was playing hard to get.
Aether shivered beneath him. Not from nerves—from anticipation. He wanted to hunt.
"Let's go get that shiny, dramatic golden goblin," Harry whispered.
And Aether purred.
The game hadn't started yet.
But chaos?
Chaos was already airborne.
—
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch – 9:28 AM
Altitude: Above Legal Limits
Status: Harry vs. The Snitch (Round One)
Mood: Tom Cruise but with trauma, glitter, and a minor god complex
Aether didn't fly so much as declare aerial war on gravity. He burst skyward like a caffeine-fueled firework, shedding magical contrails like he was trying to outshine the aurora borealis.
Harry flattened against the handle, grinning like the chaos gremlin he was raised to be. His Quidditch robes snapped behind him like a battle banner, golden runes on his gloves glowing like miniature suns.
In his head, Jim's voice screamed louder than a banshee doing karaoke:
"ENGAGE AFTERBURNERS, BROOM BROTHERS! WELCOME TO OPERATION: SNITCHAPOCALYPSE!"
"Jim," Harry muttered through the wind, "volume."
"VOLUME IS FOR MORTALS AND LIBRARIANS! WE'RE GONNA BREAK THE SKY'S KNEECAPS!"
Below, the pitch had gone full fun-size. Hogwarts itself looked like a very prestigious Lego set.
Aether did a tight barrel roll, then snapped into a nosedive like a skydiving missile with opinions. Harry laughed—not the charming, boy-who-lived laugh, but the full-cackle-of-an-unhinged-demigod variety.
The Snitch appeared—sassy, sparkly, and moving like a sugar-drunk fairy trying to avoid taxes.
"There's our glitter gremlin," Harry said.
"LOCK TARGET! RELEASE THE LEGEND!" Jim howled, now probably projecting telepathically to nearby birds and confused Ravenclaws.
Aether purred, tailwinds curling around his shaft like ribbons of magic.
Fred's voice echoed from below—conjured megaphone in hand:
"BEHOLD! Harry Potter, the Monkey King of Mayhem, chasing the Snitch like it owes him rent!"
George added, "And Aether, the only broomstick to come with ego, personality, and a fan club!"
Angelina shaded her eyes. "I swear, if he pulls another zero-G backflip, I'm going to propose."
Katie elbowed her. "You'd have competition."
Alicia shrugged. "Honestly, same."
Up in the clouds, the chase went full Top Gun with extra sparkles.
The Snitch veered left. Aether didn't follow—he predicted, slicing the corner like a whisper from Destiny's cool older brother.
"YES! THIS IS IT! DODGE! DIVE! DOUBLE LOOP WITH A SIDE OF DESTINY!" Jim sang, somehow sounding like if Freddie Mercury and a sugar-high otter had fused.
Harry grinned. "Keep talking, Jim. The sky isn't scared enough yet."
"OH I'LL DO YOU ONE BETTER! COMMENCE DIVINE AERIAL MONOLOGUE—"
He did.
Meanwhile, Oliver Wood was quietly dying. Clipboard clutched in one hand, he muttered calculations like a man watching physics resign.
"That's not… no… you can't bend that axis… broom torque doesn't… Sweet Merlin on a unicycle!"
Fred leaned over. "Should we get him a paper bag?"
George replied, "Or a new sense of reality?"
"Maybe both."
Up in the stratosphere, the Snitch pulled a feint so tight it almost disappeared. But Harry was already there. Aether dipped beneath a current, then kicked off it, executing a move that had no name because the laws of motion hadn't caught up yet.
Harry rolled sideways, spun beneath a storm puff, then did an upside-down slide across a wind tunnel, flipping right side up just in time to drift into the Snitch's path.
Fred dropped his megaphone.
"Did he just—?"
"He did," George confirmed. "That was a Sidewinder Star-Slinger. We're naming it. Immediately."
"Trademarked," Alicia said from her broom. "I already sent the owl."
Katie, jaw slightly slack: "He's not human. That's a goblin-riding comet."
Back in the sky:
Five meters.
Four.
Jim screamed, "FINGER OF DESTINY—ENGAGE!"
Three.
Two—
The Snitch juked right.
Harry kicked off a gust, inverted his axis, spun Aether into a corkscrew somersault of such drama it probably got a standing ovation from a nearby thundercloud, and extended his hand.
He grabbed the Snitch.
Silence.
Then—
"YES! THE GLITTER BALL IS OURS! HOLD IT UP, SON OF LOKI AND ARTEMIS! WAVE IT LIKE YOU JUST ROBBED REALITY!"
Harry raised the Snitch, golden wings fluttering in his palm like a caffeinated butterfly.
Aether cruised into a victory spiral, sparkling trails marking his orbit.
Fred and George tackled each other in glee. George accidentally hexed the megaphone into a goose. The goose honked in victory.
Angelina fist-pumped. "I'm making him team captain."
Oliver slumped onto the grass like a tragic opera.
"He caught it," he whispered to the clipboard. "He caught it. The broom drifted. The Snitch blinked. Physics cried. I need tea."
Katie shook her head. "I just want a slow-motion replay."
Alicia: "Forget that—I want his autograph."
Jim was still celebrating.
"CONFETTI! PYROTECHNICS! SOMEONE SUMMON THEME MUSIC! WE NEED A PARADE! I AM THE PARADE!"
And high above it all, with chaos below and a gleaming golden ball in hand, Harry Potter grinned like he owned the sky and had just taken out a mortgage on destiny.
The game hadn't even started.
But Harry? He'd already won.
And Jim? Jim was still screaming.
"SOMEONE FETCH ME A CROWN! AETHER, BE A GOOD BOY AND DO A BARREL ROLL WHILE I PRACTICE MY CORONATION WAVE!"
—
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch – 9:42 AM
Altitude: Back Below Legal Limits (Barely)
Status: Monkey King Has Landed
Mood: Supernova With a Side of Swagger and a Full Bag of Doritos
Aether didn't land. He descended like he was auditioning for the final scene in a superhero movie directed by Poseidon with a flair addiction. The sleek cloud-broom spiraled downward in lazy, arrogant loops, leaving glittery contrails and enough raw magic to make a centaur cry aesthetics.
Harry Potter landed with both boots and zero apologies. His robe snapped like a war flag, golden runes glowing with smug superiority. The Snitch fluttered in his hand, wings slowing until it finally gave up the ghost, like a caffeine-addled fairy that had just run out of excuses.
Harry tilted his head at it. "You fought valiantly, sparkly fugitive of the tax realm."
Inside his head, Jim — aka Riyu Jingu Bang, enchanted staff, magical commentator, broom hype-man, and chaos sidekick — absolutely lost what was left of his sanity.
*"YESSS! OH MY HOLY LOKI, THAT WAS A LANDING! THE ANGELS ARE APPLAUDING! THE CLOUDS ARE PREGNANT WITH ADMIRATION! DO THE WAVE, REALITY, YOUR MONKEY KING JUST REWROTE YOU!"
"Jim," Harry muttered through a smug grin. "Take it down half a decibel."
*"NEVER! I AM A VOLUME LEVEL NOW! I AM THE STANDARD BY WHICH HYPE IS MEASURED! I HAVE BECOME CAPS LOCK, DESTROYER OF SILENCE!"
Aether gave a cocky spin mid-hover and floated beside Harry like a loyal sky-beast, humming softly like a purring dragon puppy with wind for scales.
"You were incredible," Harry murmured, giving the shaft a fond pat. Aether shimmered in pleased response, the wood warming slightly under his fingers like it had feelings and a personal Spotify playlist.
On the grass below, chaos.
Fred and George had conjured fireworks shaped like Harry's grinning face. One accidentally turned into a flaming badger. The goose (formerly megaphone) honked the Hogwarts anthem with militant rhythm.
Angelina Johnson strode across the pitch like a queen whose crown had just grown wings.
"Team Captain. Done deal," she declared.
Harry raised a brow. "That a formal offer or a magical betrothal?"
Angelina smirked. "Depends how many Slytherins you humiliate."
*"YES, QUEEN! MARRY HIM TO THE GAME! GIVE HIM A TIARA OF SNITCH WINGS!"
Alicia Spinnet flipped her hair, which sparkled (possibly from a charm, possibly from pure swagger).
"You just seduced gravity. That shouldn't be legal."
Katie Bell, eyes wide and voice dry, added, "You owe me a new definition of physics. Mine just short-circuited."
Harry bowed. "Blame Artemis. I got the balance. Blame Loki. I got the sass."
Fred popped up with a scroll. "What was that corkscrew move?"
"Sidewinder Star-Slinger," Harry replied, stretching. "Named and patented by Alicia."
George nodded solemnly. "Next time, add fire. Maybe a lightning bolt. Or spontaneous opera."
Aether floated by and literally sparkled.
*"YESSS, FLUFF-ROCKET, YOU GLORIOUS MAGIC SURFBOARD OF DESTINY! GIMME SOME WIND! HIGH-FIVE ME WITH YOUR EXISTENCE!"
Oliver Wood was having a meltdown on the sideline.
Clipboard clutched like a security blanket, he was pacing like a man watching the universe slide into absurdity.
"That wasn't a dive," he muttered. "That was a ribbon spiral with inverted torque powered by existential caffeine."
Angelina whispered to Alicia, "Should we, uh, tranquilize him?"
Alicia shook her head. "Wait. He's almost there."
Oliver froze.
His pupils dilated.
He grinned. A manic, teacup-short-of-a-set grin.
"We're going to destroy the other teams."
He turned on the spot, arms flung wide like a magical televangelist.
"Slytherin's got Higgs? Pfft! Hufflepuff? Too polite! Ravenclaw? They'll stop mid-game to write an essay! But us—we have Potter! We have velocity! We have a broom with sentience and flair!"
Aether hovered obligingly, casting a smug shadow.
*"AND ME!"
Jim bellowed directly into Harry's frontal lobe.
*"I AM THE SCREAM THAT WAKES THE WIND! I AM THE BANANA ON THE KART OF CHAOS!"
Harry casually tossed the Snitch to Oliver like it was a mic-drop.
"Put that in your playbook."
Oliver caught it with a sound like someone being hit with joy and panic at the same time.
"I need tea," he whispered. "Or firewhisky. Or an exorcist."
Fred and George leaned in, arms slung over Harry's shoulders.
"We're starting a merch line," Fred announced.
"Harry Potter Signature Moves," George added.
"Limited edition foil cards include real Aether hair."
"And glitter."
Alicia rolled her eyes. "Make room for the Sidewinder Star-Slinger."
Katie deadpanned, "And the Ego Spiral of Doom."
Angelina raised a hand. "Call it what you want. Just make him captain. And keep him away from the snack table. He flies better with an empty stomach."
*"OR A FULL ONE. WHO CARES?! FEED HIM STARLIGHT! FUEL HIM WITH METEOR DUST!"
As they strolled off toward the changing rooms, Jim was still screaming. Aether hummed a victory tune. And Harry Potter, Son of Mischief and Moonlight, threw a wink back at the sky.
"Round One," he said. "Next time? We bring the moon down for target practice."
Jim: *"YES! AETHER, BARREL ROLL! FETCH ME A CROWN MADE OF CLOUDS AND SNITCH WINGS! I DESERVE A VICTORY FOUNTAIN! I AM THE VICTORY FOUNTAIN!"
—
Hogwarts – Great Hall, Lunch Hour – 12:17 PM
Status: Rumor Storm Incoming
Mood: Spicy, Petty, and About to Go Full Telenovela
It took approximately seventeen minutes and one aggressively loud Ravenclaw to turn Gryffindor's early morning practice session into castle-wide lore.
By lunch, the entire Great Hall was buzzing louder than a nest of Cornish Pixies on espresso.
"Did you hear?" a second-year whispered, eyes wide. "Potter caught the Snitch in under five minutes."
"He did a Sidewinder Star-Slinger," said a fourth-year Hufflepuff reverently, like it was a sacred rite.
"A what?"
"No idea. But it sounds illegal in at least five countries."
Slytherin table was less impressed.
"It's all Gryffindor propaganda," Draco Malfoy snapped, stabbing a sausage like it owed him money. "The first years in my house aren't even allowed broom privileges yet. But Saint Potter gets handed a new broom and a golden throne?"
Crabbe and Goyle nodded in sync, though it was unclear if they were listening or just reacting to sausage-stabbing like it was a team sport.
"I could have made Seeker," Draco added, voice going a bit nasal. "Father wrote to Professor Snape. Twice."
"Twice," Goyle repeated loyally.
"But apparently nepotism is only allowed if you're a Potter."
The words were loud enough for the Gryffindor table to hear, which was probably the point.
Harry, who had just bitten into a treacle tart, looked up with the slow blink of someone seriously debating whether petty vengeance was worth pausing dessert.
Jim popped into his head like a sentient siren.
"OHHH SNAP, DRACO JUST PICKED A FIGHT WITH A DEMIGOD AND A DIET PHOENIX. SHOULD I PREP THE THEME MUSIC OR THE MEDICAL KIT?!"
Harry sighed.
He stood.
Draco grinned.
"Oh look, he's coming over," Draco said, adjusting his collar like he was expecting a duel, an apology, or a spotlight.
Harry walked straight to the Slytherin table, set down his fork on their gravy boat with a ping, and said:
"You've been making a lot of noise, Malfoy. You good?"
"You cheated," Draco said, going redder by the syllable. "No first year gets on the team. You must've bribed them."
"Right," Harry nodded. "With what? My sparkling personality?"
Jim added, *"AND MY ENCHANTING MUSICAL NUMBER! STILL IN REHEARSALS, BUT VERY CATCHY!"
"You think you're better than everyone else," Draco sneered.
"No," Harry said, "but I'm definitely better than you."
Gasps. Multiple.
Jim made a sound like a trumpet solo followed by a rimshot.
Draco puffed up like an angry peacock. "Fine. Duel. Tonight. Trophy room. Midnight."
Harry tilted his head. "Why wait for midnight?"
Draco blinked. "What?"
"You want to duel, let's duel. Now. Broad daylight. With a referee."
"What?"
Harry turned to the staff table and called out:
"Professor Flitwick? Sir? You wouldn't mind overseeing a friendly duel, would you?"
Flitwick, who'd been enjoying his soup and the drama like it was theatre, perked up.
"Delighted!" he squeaked. "I haven't refereed a proper duel in ages."
He twirled his wand like a conductor about to lead an orchestra of fireworks.
Malfoy's face paled faster than Nearly Headless Nick in a snowstorm.
"I—Actually—"
Harry grinned. "Don't worry. I won't even use my wand."
The Great Hall went dead silent.
Fred dropped a fork. George high-fived him.
Angelina murmured, "Oh, he's really doing it."
Katie whispered, "Is it weird I find this hot?"
Alicia: "No. Very normal."
Jim: *"LET ME AT HIM. I'VE BEEN WAITING TO THWACK A BLONDE RICH KID ALL WEEK!"
Malfoy's jaw worked like he was trying to manually reboot his brain.
"Fine," he snapped, not sounding fine at all. "You'll regret this."
Harry gave a little mock-bow. "After you, Prince of Pout."
Flitwick was already floating off his chair, muttering excitedly about dueling stances and spectator safety wards.
And Malfoy? Malfoy followed, because he couldn't exactly back down now—not with half the school watching and Jim humming a gladiator march in Harry's head.
Somewhere overhead, Aether (still tethered outside) did a little victory loop just for vibes.
And so, the stage was set.
Harry Potter—Monkey King of Mayhem, Chaos Gremlin Supreme, Son of Trickster and Huntress—and Draco Malfoy—heir to entitlement and bad decisions—were about to square off.
Jim whispered, "I HOPE HE BROUGHT A SPARE EGO, 'CAUSE I'M ABOUT TO SNAP THE FIRST ONE OVER MY KNEE."
---
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