Two days had passed. Although everyone had gradually accepted the truth, the impact hadn't faded—it was simply settling and fermenting benea
Two days had passed. Although everyone had gradually accepted the truth, the impact hadn't faded—it was simply settling and fermenting beneath the surface.
To varying degrees, the genuine smiles people once showed Harry had begun to change.
Hermione, unlike the thick-skinned Harry, was utterly consumed with shame.
As a result, she had been throwing herself into everything with unparalleled zeal these past two days, as if trying to earn back all the lost House points—Harry's included.
…
The sky was streaked with the glow of dawn.
Orange light streamed through the tall glass windows, bathing the peaceful hall in warmth.
Harry's face seemed dusted with gold.
A girl stopped walking and stepped closer to him.
Harry looked up and found her vaguely familiar.
"Potter, long time no see," she greeted him with a smile.
"You are…?" Harry felt like he'd seen her before, but couldn't quite place her.
After a few more glances at the older student—taller than him by half a head—Harry suddenly remembered.
"You're the fifth-year prefect from Ravenclaw, right?"
She was the beautiful prefect who, at the start of the school year, had driven off a fellow Ravenclaw trying to buy Harry's unicorn.
Although Harry had only met her once months ago, beautiful people tend to be hard to forget.
The fat boy who'd tried to take Xiaoxue, on the other hand, had long since vanished from his memory.
Penelope looked pleased that he still remembered her—though it seemed he'd forgotten her name.
"My name is Penelope Clearwater," she said with a smirk. "Next time we meet, don't forget it."
…
Penelope ran her slender fingers through her sleek hair, sighing. "I heard about what you've been going through lately. I came to offer you some comforting words, but clearly, you don't need them."
Harry had a pretty good grasp of her character by now—she was just too kind-hearted.
He smiled. "If your words of comfort actually inspired me to bounce back and win the House Cup, wouldn't that make you the traitor of your own house? Ravenclaw's trying to challenge Slytherin again this year, aren't they?"
Penelope rolled her eyes. "You think you're Merlin or something?"
She clearly took the comment as a joke.
Harry just smiled without replying.
Penelope didn't keep teasing him. Instead, she said, "Honestly, I haven't seen how your classmates have been treating you, but I can guess it hasn't been kind. Still, you can't expect them to smile and cheer while you lose points for the house. It's not like you're especially important to them."
Harry looked at her in surprise. "Are you trying to be my wise older sister?"
"Ugh, don't be gross," Penelope said, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Harry's expression suddenly grew calm. His tone was light but firm. "I've never cared about being accepted by my housemates. Maybe on the surface they smile and act all friendly, but the moment something goes wrong, they're the first to point fingers. Honestly, what they think has nothing to do with me. Sometimes, Gryffindors are the most annoying of all four houses. Even Slytherins are better in some ways. At least they're consistent—they follow their pure-blood ideals, however twisted. Gryffindors? They're all hot-headed and combative. They call it bravery and adventure, but it's just recklessness. Every single one of them wants to be the leader and refuses to follow anyone else. Do they really think they're the protagonists of some novel?"
Harry suddenly stopped talking.
He realized how angry he'd truly been the last few days—but his mature demeanor had buried that anger deep down.
Now that someone was willing to listen, he couldn't help venting all that bottled-up frustration.
But after letting it out, his chest felt unexpectedly lighter.
Penelope stood there, stunned, her mouth slightly open and eyes wide. You just told me you didn't care, and now you've unleashed all that bitterness?
Harry stood up and looked at her. "Senior, you'd better forget everything I just said. It'll ruin the perfect image you had of me."
Penelope: "…"
…
The long-awaited Quidditch match had arrived.
Before the "hourglass incident," the Gryffindor team had trained with a relatively light-hearted attitude. Their goal was to thrash Slytherin enough to crush their House Cup dreams. Even knowing Snape would be refereeing, they just hoped he wouldn't be overly biased.
If they lost, it didn't matter—the point gap had been massive.
But everything had changed.
Now, Gryffindor had to win. No matter what.
It was the only chance they had to surpass Slytherin.
Of course, nobody seriously believed they could reclaim first place.
The sun rose higher.
Students and professors filled the stands.
In the Gryffindor locker room—
Oliver Wood, the team captain, gave a speech so uninspired that even he seemed unconvinced.
His face was pale, his eyes sunken with dark circles—clearly from lack of sleep.
He sighed and looked at his team. Apart from Harry, who looked as calm as ever, everyone else was slouched, their heads down, listless and unmotivated. None of the proud, high-spirited energy from earlier in the year remained.
When the crowd's cheers erupted outside—
"Come on… Let's go," Wood said.
The team straightened their backs, trying not to appear completely broken.
They pushed aside the curtain—and were greeted by a deafening roar.
…
Snape tossed the Quaffle into the air.
Tweet!
The whistle blew.
The fierce match began.
Morale is a strange thing. You can't see it—but it's real.
Ten minutes later, Wood and his team were still flying, still holding on.
It was the hardest they'd ever played—but sadly, their score didn't reflect it.
Slytherin: 100
Gryffindor: 20
In less than ten minutes, Slytherin had scored 10 goals.
Gryffindor fans had already stopped cheering. Some had even begun to grumble about the team's poor performance.
Harry remained high in the sky the whole time, scanning for the Golden Snitch.
In the Slytherin stands—
Taunts aimed at Gryffindor and Harry rang out constantly, reaching Draco Malfoy's ears.
Goyle, his tall and thick friend, was laughing so hard his eyes were barely open. His fat cheeks jiggled as he called Harry a monkey flying in the sky.
"Shut up," Malfoy suddenly said.
He didn't even know why. At first, hearing others mock Harry felt satisfying.
But watching Gryffindor get crushed, seeing Harry's thin, solitary figure drifting alone through the sky—his posture hunched and full of helplessness… (or so Malfoy imagined)—started to make him feel uncomfortable.
So when Goyle spoke, it grated on him.
Hovering on his broom, Harry sat there looking mildly bored. His sharp instincts sensed someone staring at him.
He turned his head—Malfoy was watching him.
At that moment, a glimmer of gold streaked past.
Harry reached out on reflex—
And caught it.
He had caught the Golden Snitch.
For a second, Harry just stared at it, stunned.
Then realization hit—he had actually caught the Snitch.
(Golden Snitch: "Seriously?!")
A smile crept across Harry's face. At that moment, he locked eyes with a dumbfounded Malfoy.
Grinning, Harry raised the Snitch and gave him a cheerful little wave.
Malfoy: "…"
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⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter
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