Due to Principal Black's ban, Harry didn't know much about Quidditch.
Of course, he was very much looking forward to Wood's teaching.
After Wood finished introducing the rules of Quidditch, Harry suddenly asked, "So, has anyone ever died in a match—I mean, you see we're flying so high when playing Quidditch, and we have to dodge Bludgers from time to time..."
He tried to make himself seem like an outsider.
"How could that happen?" Wood looked surprised, "At most, Quidditch might get your jaw broken, or an arm or leg fractured. Even if you fall, the field is protected by magic enough to keep you safe—at least you won't die from a fall."
Harry was certain, this was Black's conspiracy.
After performing a dive stop and other high-difficulty moves for Wood, Wood's expression changed from initial skepticism of Harry's flying ability to admiration, and finally to confidence.
"This year's Quidditch will definitely have our names engraved on it," Wood said happily, "You know, I once saw your father's name, James Potter, on the Quidditch trophy, right? He was a Chaser for Gryffindor."
"I've heard from Hagrid that my father was excellent at Quidditch," Harry said.
"That's right, your flying ability is something you inherited," Wood said confidently, "Now, let our Mr. Potter lead us to victory!"
Wood only taught Harry the rules of Quidditch and didn't drag him into training.
As far as he was concerned, a prodigy like Harry, who could start flying around on a broom even before he could walk, was something he'd be willing to believe.
The Hogwarts curriculum wasn't intense, and Harry always managed to find free time.
No class had ever made Harry feel so annoyed; he was really fed up with Professor Quirrell's stuttering and unclear lectures.
This was truly the worst professor, he thought.
Sitting at the Gryffindor table, Harry chewed his sandwich absentmindedly, still pondering if he should take advantage of the free period to check out the dungeons below the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
As he was lost in thought, Hermione suddenly let out a gasp.
"Oh my gosh, Harry, Ron!"
She looked like she had discovered something monumental, pulling Harry and Ron over, a small hand patting on a thick, heavy book.
"What is it?" Ron asked quizzically.
Could there be some treasure in the book? Otherwise, why would Hermione be so surprised and excited?
"Ever since I heard it from Hagrid, I've been searching for more than half a month!" Hermione whispered to them, pressing her small hand on the book, "Look, I've finally found it here—there's an article here about the deeds of Harry Potter, let me see... Ron, what relation is Gareth Weasley to you?"
"My great-grandfather." Ron shrugged.
Originally uninterested in Hermione's 'big discovery,' Harry suddenly raised his head.
Good girl, you are right on time.
"Your great-grandfather? Ronald..." Hermione's eyes widened, "You've never mentioned having such an incredible great-grandfather."
"I actually don't know much about his affairs either," Ron said with open hands.
Hermione gave Ron a subtle look and then turned back to the article.
Harry felt like asking about Gareth's current situation but was also hesitant, uncertain how to pose the question.
It wasn't about the manner of questioning but rather the fear of hearing bad news.
"Look here, Harry." Hermione said with a cheerful smile, pointing at a passage, "Now I finally understand why Peeves is so afraid of you! Apparently, he mistook you for that Harry! Look, he created a spell to deal with Peeves—"
"How do you know Peeves is afraid of Harry?" Ron asked curiously.
"Isn't it obvious, Ron?" Hermione rolled her eyes, "Haven't you noticed that when we're with Harry, Peeves never pranks us? Plus, on the first day of school, when Harry pointed his magic wand at Peeves, that guy was so scared he fled; he must have mistaken Harry for that person!"
"Cool." Ron showed interest as well, "Can you find out what that spell is? If we learn it, we won't have to fear Peeves anymore."
"I'll find it," Hermione said resolutely, wearing a look of determination, as if standing in the spotlights of a Duel Festival.
Harry opened his mouth; he actually wanted to tell Hermione about the spell.
"He's really amazing," Hermione sighed, "It says here he invented this spell in his third year—wow, I find studying magic spells really difficult right now."
"What else does it say?" Ron crawled under the table to sit beside Hermione, eager to read along with her.
"Here, look," Hermione pointed to another passage, "I can't believe it, Ron, the ancestor of the Weasley family was actually friends with the ancestor of the Malfoy family? They were comrades against the Fire Ash Snake Faction..."
"No way!" Ron's nose turned red instantly, "How could my great-grandfather be involved with the Malfoy family? You're making it up!"
"See for yourself!" Hermione whispered, pushing the book forcefully towards Ron and pointing at the text, "Look, Gareth Weasley, Pabi Swedding, Cassandra Malfoy, they're all mentioned as friends who fought together with that Harry to suppress the Fire Ash Snake Faction and quell the Goblin Rebellion..."
Ron leaned over to look, and sure enough, the words were just as Hermione said.
His face reddened further, and he mumbled that the article must be fake, claiming the Weasley family could never be friends with the Malfoys.
"Could a history recorded in books be false?" Hermione squinted.
"I don't believe it anyway," Ron said stubbornly.
Seeing the two of them in a staring contest, neither giving way, Harry suddenly said, "Then why not ask the person involved? I mean, your great-grandfather, Mr. Gareth Weasley."
"My great-grandfather passed away before I was born," Ron spoke softly, "Even Bill and Charlie never met him; he didn't even leave a portrait."
Harry felt a sharp pang in his heart.
"Sorry, Ron, I'm sorry..." he murmured.
Gareth had passed away, did that mean... Sebastian, Omnius might have, too...
And what about Cassandra and Villatia, could they have...
Harry felt a mess within, suddenly hearing the news of old friends' passing, his mood took an inexplicable turn for the worse.