The Gryffindor Quidditch team typically trained three times a week. Last year, due to certain circumstances, Gryffindor had been banned from using the pitch for quite a while. To make up for lost time, Oliver Wood had insisted on adding early morning practices.
But that had been brutal—nearly everyone on the team struggled to keep up. Harry's eyes had gone so dark from exhaustion that they looked like they were made of chocolate. It took him two full months after the season ended to recover.
So this year, when Oliver once again proposed morning training, he was met with a firm and unified rejection from the entire team.
Not everyone was like Oliver, who sprang to life the moment he climbed onto a broom, bursting with endless energy.
Sure, they wanted to win—but they wanted to be alive to enjoy the victory.
In the end, after much protest, Oliver agreed to stick with the usual schedule: three practices a week.
And today just happened to be one of those days.
When the team arrived at the pitch after dinner, however, they discovered someone was already there.
"What's going on? This should be our practice time," Oliver blurted. "Don't tell me it's another Slytherin trying to mess with us."
It wouldn't be the first time. Slytherin often sent first-years to spy or disrupt Gryffindor's practice, and it drove Oliver mad.
He was just about to go chase the intruder off when someone grabbed his arm.
"Oliver, this time it's not Slytherin. He's one of us," said Fred, shielding his eyes and peering into the sky. "I recognize that broom rider—it's Harold."
"Aha, and here he said he didn't like Quidditch," George grinned. "Caught red-handed sneaking in some flying practice!"
"Told you—no one really hates Quidditch."
"Wait," Oliver cut them off. "What are you two babbling about?"
"That's Harold Ollivander," Harry explained. "He's in my year, Gryffindor."
"Oh right, I know him," Oliver nodded. "The guy who made a wand out of his own hair. He's probably the most famous student in Hogwarts now."
"Other than you, of course," he added, glancing at Harry.
Harry grimaced. He really wished Oliver hadn't said that.
Oblivious, Oliver turned back toward the broom rider. "He's taking up the whole field. How are we supposed to train? Harry, you're his year-mate, right? You two must be close. Think you could ask him to move—maybe to the sidelines, just enough to clear the goalposts?"
"I—I can try," Harry said, though he didn't sound confident at all.
But before he could take a step, Harold landed on his own, wobbling slightly as he touched down.
"Well, well, Harold…"
"Look what we have here."
"Didn't you say you didn't like Quidditch?" Fred walked up with a teasing grin.
"Don't be ridiculous, I love Quidditch," Harold declared loudly, especially once he noticed Oliver looking his way.
Oliver turned back toward the equipment shed, apparently satisfied with the explanation, and jogged off to fetch the ball crate.
Fred and George, however, weren't done.
"Alright then, what's this about?" Fred asked.
"Yeah, what are you flying on?" George added. "New broom?"
Harold held up the broom in his hand. "Just testing my new broom."
"You got a new one?"
"Which is it, a Nimbus 2001? A Firebolt?"
"Neither," Harold said, handing it over. "It's a Comet Two-Sixty."
Silence fell instantly.
Fred and George rubbed their eyes.
Yep. A Comet 260. A broom even older than their own Cleansweep Fives.
"This thing still has new models?" George muttered under his breath.
It was hard to describe their current mood… probably like when Dumbledore announces a famous Quidditch star is visiting Hogwarts, and everyone starts wildly guessing—Viktor Krum? Josefina Calderon? Darren O'Hare?
Then Oliver Wood walks through the door.
It's not bad. Just… disappointing.
"Wanna try it?" Harold offered. "It's amazing. You won't believe how smooth it is."
"Ah, maybe another time," they both stepped back politely, declining the offer.
They weren't remotely interested in trying a broom even older than their own—even if it was brand new.
The Comet series was never known for speed. It was more about stability… and that's not what you want in a good Beater's broom.
"You sure?" Harold offered again.
"Definitely next time," Fred waved it off, mounting his Cleansweep. "We've got training to get to."
"Oliver just called for us—later, Harold."
The twins lifted off and joined the others.
"What a shame. You have no idea what you're missing," Harold said, smiling as he watched them go.
He patted the broom in his hand—his "Wand-Broom," as he'd named it. A wand big enough to fly on.
He'd already tested it. Aside from having no listed enchantments under "properties," it was nearly identical to a normal wand in every way.
Better, even. It could hold more runes thanks to its size, and it didn't even require wand movements—just incantation alone was enough to cast spells.
With it, he'd solved two long-standing problems: wizards not being able to fly naturally, and how awkward it was to use a wand while riding a broom.
He'd wanted Fred and George to be the first to experience it, but… oh well. Their loss.
Harold slung the broom over his shoulder and headed back to the castle, feeling thoroughly pleased.
The Gryffindor common room was abuzz with chatter and excitement. Turns out, the date for the Hogsmeade weekend had just been posted.
"End of October," Ron said, reading the torn-up notice pinned to the board. "On Halloween, actually."
"Harold, have you ever been to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked.
"Once," Harold nodded.
At the start of the term, Professor McGonagall had taken him to the Three Broomsticks.
But they'd only stopped at the pub. He hadn't had time to explore the rest of the village before returning to Hogwarts with her.
The Marauder's Map did show secret passages leading to Hogsmeade, but Harold had never used them.
Too risky. Professors often visited Hogsmeade, and getting caught sneaking out of school was grounds for immediate expulsion.
Even the Weasley twins—who treated most school rules as suggestions—rarely dared to go through the tunnels.
The last time they had gone, it had been to celebrate Gryffindor winning both the House and Quidditch Cups the previous year. They'd snuck out to the Three Broomsticks and brought back loads of butterbeer.
That had been during the end-of-year feast, when all the professors were still in the Great Hall, making it relatively safe.
…(End of Chapter)