Quidditch fever lingered well into the second week as the school continued its lively discussions.
On Thursday at lunch, Hermione sat at the dining table with a thick notebook, reading aloud to a crowd of eager students. They surrounded her like devout followers.
Hermione had been glued to Quidditch Through the Ages, looking increasingly tense. William, noticing her anxiety, had taken the liberty of compiling a concise Quidditch notebook.
This notebook contained not only his own playing techniques but also an assortment of strategic insights he had gathered.
As with all things academic, the notes of a high achiever were the most sought-after resource, especially as first-years prepared for their first flying lesson with Madam Hooch that afternoon.
It didn't matter whether the notes would actually help, just having them, even for show, provided psychological comfort. After all, anything was better than a teacher's vague assurances that "everything is important" or "I've covered all the test material."
A group of first-years hung on Hermione's every word as she read with the poise of a top-notch class representative.
Suddenly, a flock of owls swooped into the hall.
Draco Malfoy received a large package, which he opened to reveal an assortment of imported sweets. Loudly, he invited his fellow Slytherins to help themselves.
True to form, no one hesitated. Within seconds, the table erupted into chaos as everyone scrambled for the treats.
It was like sending a group message with a red envelope—clicking it only to find it had already been emptied.
Pansy Parkinson managed to snag a heart-shaped chocolate and offered to share it with Malfoy, but he curtly declined.
Despite not getting to eat a single piece himself, Malfoy remained undeterred, loudly boasting, "We've got tons of sweets like these at home. If you lot like them, I'll have my father send more every day. Don't hold backor, I'll be offended!"
He then glanced pointedly at Harry, his voice dripping with mock pity. "Unlike some people who don't even get letters, let alone gifts."
Even from afar, William could hear Malfoy's taunting tone and see through his ploy.
This wasn't boasting—it was an attempt to bait Harry into asking for sweets.
Unfortunately for Malfoy, Harry wasn't biting. Instead, he angrily tore into a blackcurrant tart as if it were Malfoy's head.
Meanwhile, Ron was loudly complaining.
"I'm your own brother, and I still have to pay to ride one of your brooms?!" he fumed.
"That's why we're only charging you five Sickles, half the price," Fred replied with sincerity.
"But I don't have five Sickles!"
"Then you'll just have to wait for this afternoon's flying lesson and use the school's Nimbus 1700," George said with a grin.
"You two have made enough to buy a Nimbus 2000, and you're still charging me?"
Fred smirked. "Five Sickles is still money, isn't it?"
Ron glowered at his bread roll, biting into it as if it were Fred and George themselves.
Across the hall, Neville received a package from his grandmother. A small glass orb filled with swirling white mist.
"This is a Remembrall!" Neville explained, holding it up. "Gran knows I'm forgetful—it tells you if you've forgotten something."
"See, you hold it tightly like this, and if it turns red—oh…"
The orb glowed a vivid red, and Neville's face fell.
He began racking his brain, trying to remember what he'd forgotten. "But I don't think I've forgotten anything!" he lamented.
Meanwhile, in the History of Magic classroom, Trevor the toad sat croaking forlornly at the window. Gryffindor's last morning class had been History of Magic, and Trevor had dozed off on Neville's desk. When he woke up, the room was empty, the door locked, and Professor Binns had drifted away, leaving Trevor to search desperately for his owner.
Back in the Great Hall, Neville continued to look puzzled.
For some unknown reason, Malfoy suddenly left the Slytherin table and made his way over to the Gryffindor table. Without warning, he snatched the Remembrall from Neville's hand.
Harry and Ron leapt to their feet, ready to fight. Both boys burned with pent-up anger, and was very eager to find an outlet.
Malfoy, ignoring Ron entirely, locked eyes with Harry, his expression provocatively defiant.
But Professor McGonagall, ever vigilant, appeared as if summoned by magic.
Moments earlier, she had been chatting with Dumbledore, but now she stood at the table, her sharp eyes surveying the scene.
Even Hermione was too stunned to continue reading. She seemed interested in McGonagall's uncanny ability to locate trouble.
"What's going on here?" McGonagall asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor," Neville stammered.
With a scowl, Malfoy tossed the orb back onto the table. His attempt at provocation had failed spectacularly.
"Just you wait," he muttered before slinking off.
Neville stared at the glowing Remembrall, still unable to figure out what he had forgotten. "Maybe I left my map somewhere," he thought aloud. "I think I lost it again."
George sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Neville, at this rate, are you sure you'll have enough pocket money left for new maps?"
Neville often bought replacement maps after losing his previous ones. While William and the others felt bad about selling them. While others used one a year, he needed one every week, this rate was simply too exaggerated..
"Why not just have William tattoo a map of Hogwarts on your knees?" Fred suggested seriously.
"That's not a bad idea," George added with a laugh. "I heard William say Dumbledore has a map of the London Underground tattooed on his knee."
George spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear, sparking curious stares from the students around them. Even Cho and Marietta looked interested at William.
William sipped his tea nonchalantly. "Don't look at me like that, I've never seen it myself.
"I asked Dumbledore about maps last year, and he told me himself. He also suggested making the maps less complicated than the London Underground though, it's too unfriendly for wizards. You can't even find the nearest loo!"
Despite William's clarification, rumors spread like wildfire. By the afternoon, the school was abuzz with exaggerated tales: Dumbledore had a tattoo of Hogwarts on his back, and a golden-haired wizard inked on his chest.
"If you love him, tattoo him on your chest!"
The rumors gained so much traction that even William found himself half-believing them.
That afternoon, William and Cho joined the others heading to the greenhouses for Herbology. Professor Sprout was already waiting for them at the door.
A stout witch with wild hair tucked under a patched hat, Professor Sprout always had soil on her clothes. Everyone liked her for her kind demeanor and the fascinating plants she introduced them to.
In many ways, she was like Hagrid—but unlike him, she had a better sense of boundaries and avoided excessively dangerous specimens.
"Today, we're back in Greenhouse Three!" Professor Sprout announced.
First-years had started in Greenhouse One but had recently advanced to the more exciting (and dangerous) plants of Greenhouse Three.
Taking a large key from her belt, Professor Sprout unlocked the door.
The humid smell of soil and fertilizer filled the air, mingled with the rich aroma of oversized flowers hanging umbrella-like from the ceiling.
As the students began filing in, Professor Sprout held William back, her expression serious.
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