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With this new understanding, Harry decided to approach Hermione subtly, without revealing the existence of the Compelling Spell or Dumbledore's possible involvement. He wanted to help her realize, if indeed she was out of place, and support her in adapting to her new environment.
"So, Ms. Granger, have you found your place in Gryffindor?" Harry inquired, his voice casual yet laced with a deeper curiosity.
Hermione paused, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and uncertainty. "I suppose so. It's been a whirlwind of new experiences. Gryffindor is all about bravery and courage, which I admire, but sometimes I feel a bit... out of sync."
Harry, leaning slightly closer, spoke with a gentle tone, "It's natural to feel out of place at first, especially in a new environment. But you're a quick learner, and I'm sure you'll find your footing soon."
Hermione smiled, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I hope so, Harry. Sometimes, I wonder if I would've been better suited for Ravenclaw."
Harry's response was thoughtful, "Ms. Granger, it's not just where you're placed that defines you, but how you grow and adapt. Gryffindor will challenge you, yes, but it might also bring out qualities in you that you didn't know existed."
Hermione considered his words, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. "That's a nice way to look at it, Harry. Thank you."
As Harry conversed with Hermione, he couldn't help but observe her closely, looking for signs that might indicate an unnatural influence on her behavior. He noted her responses, the way her eyes lingered on certain topics, and her body language. Everything seemed normal, but Harry couldn't shake off the suspicion that Dumbledore's influence might be more subtle than he initially thought.
After their conversation, Harry bid Hermione farewell and left the library. As he walked back to the Slytherin common room, he pondered the complexities of the situation. Dumbledore's potential influence over Hermione's Sorting and Ron's behavior added layers of complexity to his first year at Hogwarts. It was a game of chess, with Dumbledore possibly moving pieces in a grand strategy. But Harry was not a piece to be moved at will. He was a player in his own right, and he intended to play this game with skill and cunning.
Back in the Slytherin common room, Harry found himself amidst his housemates, their conversations a mix of school gossip and plans for the upcoming weekend.
Before Harry could settle into the Slytherin common room's rhythm, a 7th-year student approached him. "Selena wishes to see you," she stated, her tone conveying the importance of the summon. Harry nodded in acknowledgment and followed the girl. They arrived at the dungeon door, the entrance to the common room, but rather than leaving, the girl knocked on a brass snake head affixed to the wall. To Harry's fascination, the wall split open, revealing a hidden corridor lined with doors on either side, leading to an open area.
Arriving at the opening, Harry was greeted by Selena, the current Serpent of the Crown. She was an imposing figure, with flowing brown hair and green eyes that, while not as vivid as Harry's, exuded a noble and fair disposition. "Professor Snape informed me you want to try out for the Quidditch team," Selena said, her voice carrying a tone of authority.
"Yes," Harry replied, meeting her gaze with equal measure. He noted the confidence in her stance and the way she carried herself - a true representation of Slytherin's noble legacy.
"Do you even know how to play? You're from the Muggle world, after all," Selena queried, her eyes narrowing slightly, assessing Harry's capabilities.
Harry considered his response carefully. While he had practiced broom riding in the Virtual Room and possessed a natural talent for Broom Riding and Quidditch, he had never actually played the game in reality. Despite this, his confidence remained unshaken. "I'll be the Seeker," he declared, his tone firm yet respectful.
Selena nodded, her expression softening slightly. Confidence was a valuable trait in Slytherin, as long as it was well-founded. "Then you'll need to prove yourself," she stated, "Quidditch is more than just flying. It's about strategy, agility, and, above all, the will to win."
"I understand," Harry acknowledged. "I'm ready for the challenge."
Selena studied Harry for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing as if trying to read his very thoughts. Then, with a wave of her hand, she gestured towards the corridor. "Captain Marcus Flint awaits in the first room on the right. He will assess you." Her tone was authoritative, befitting her status as the Serpent of the Crown.
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, a determined glint in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice steady. As he turned to leave, Selena's voice halted him once more.
"I allow Quidditch players to use that room, but do not venture beyond. This room watches, Mr. Potter." Her warning was clear, and her gaze unyielding.
Harry paused, turning back to face her with a defying smile. "I will take note of that," he assured her, then walked away, his steps echoing in the corridor.
The title of the Serpent of the Crown carried weight within Slytherin House. It was a position of power and influence, one that even the Headboy or Headgirl and prefects, if they were from Slytherin, were bound to obey. Harry knew that acquiring this title would cement his leadership and respect within the house. It was a goal he was determined to achieve.
Entering the designated room, Harry found Marcus Flint waiting for him. Flint, a tall, broad-shouldered student with a stern expression, stood up upon seeing Harry. His gaze was evaluating, and his voice, when he spoke, carried a hint of skepticism. "Mr. Potter. Let's test you."
Harry nodded, meeting Flint's gaze squarely. He followed Flint as they left the common room, walking in silence to an empty classroom. The room, though closed off, was as large as the Great Hall, equipped with Quidditch gear and a few other team players who were already there, waiting.
Flint gestured to the equipment. "You'll be given a standard broom for the tryouts. We need to see your natural talent, unaided by any advanced broom."
Harry approached the broom, examining it briefly before taking it in his hands. He had practiced extensively in the Virtual Room, but this was his first real test in an actual Quidditch setting. His confidence, however, was unwavering.
As Harry mounted the broom, he felt a surge of excitement. The feeling of flight, the rush of air against his face, was exhilarating. He soared upwards, the broom responding smoothly to his commands. Below him, Flint and the other team members watched, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
The tryout began with basic flying maneuvers. Harry executed them with precision, his control of the broom evident. He weaved through a series of hoops, each move fluid and confident. Flint, observing from below, couldn't help but be impressed. Harry's flying skills were exceptional for a first-year, especially one who claimed to have little experience.
Next came the mock Snitch chase. A small, enchanted golden ball was released, darting around the room unpredictably. Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the Snitch, his body leaning forward as he urged the broom to greater speeds.
Harry, high above the floor of the classroom-turned-Quidditch pitch, called out in his mind to Nigel. "Nigel, analyze the fly path of the snitch and calculate the best route."
In the quiet corner of Harry's mind, Nigel's voice emerged, tinged with its usual undertones, "Cheating, Master Harry, is it not below you?"
Harry's lips curled into a smirk, visible even from the ground. "It's not cheating," he retorted mentally. "It's using every tool at my disposal. For my goal, everything is permissible."
As Harry soared on the broom, his eyes fixed on the fluttering golden Snitch, Nigel's calculations began to flow into his consciousness. Numbers, angles, and trajectories formed a mental map, guiding Harry through the air with precision that went beyond mere instinct.
Below, Flint and the team watched, their eyes tracing Harry's movements, marveling at his uncanny ability to anticipate the Snitch's erratic path. Harry's broom darted left, then right, ascending and descending in a dance that was as mesmerizing as it was effective.
The Snitch, a blur of gold, zipped towards the far end of the room. Harry, with Nigel's guidance whispering in his mind, leaned sharply, his broom banking with such agility that it drew gasps from the spectators. His hand stretched out, inches away from the elusive target.
Suddenly, the Snitch veered upward in a steep arc. Harry adjusted instantly, his body in perfect sync with Nigel's calculations. The broom ascended, closing the gap between Harry and his quarry.
Just as the Snitch seemed within grasp, it darted towards a small opening near the ceiling. Harry, undeterred, followed. His eyes, bright with determination, never left the tiny sphere. The room held its breath as Harry neared the ceiling, his hand outstretched.
In a swift, fluid motion, Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch. The room erupted in cheers and applause. Flint, a look of grudging respect on his face, nodded in approval. "Impressive, Potter. Very impressive."
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