Harry's Occlumency practice was still ongoing. But thanks to the Dream spell, his attitude had grown much more positive.
His dormmates, however, were far less pleased—almost every night, just as they were sound asleep, they'd be jolted awake by Harry suddenly laughing for no apparent reason. The creepy giggling wiped out any trace of their sleep.
Ron finally voiced what they were all thinking: "What kind of dream could be that good? You bounce around and giggle like mad!"
Harry mumbled something vague about being too tired and not remembering anything from his dreams.
He was truly exhausted. During the day, he had classes. At night, he studied Occlumency. And with the Quidditch season fast approaching, Wood had gone back to his usual madness, increasing training to four times a week. Two of those were squeezed into the weekend.
The only thing Harry felt remotely grateful for was that, ever since they'd faced danger together, Hermione had started allowing him and Ron to copy her homework.
Though she still insisted they write it themselves, whenever they pretended not to understand something, her short temper would usually get the better of her, and she'd blurt out the answer anyway.
It wasn't until they tried copying her entire essay that she finally snapped. "Are you trolls?! What do you think the professors will say if they see three identical essays?"
Harry and Ron slinked off to the library, glumly staring down the dreaded four-foot essay requirement.
They often ran into Vaughn there.
He was the envy and admiration of all the first-years. Admired because he had killed a troll. Envied because he never had to do homework—he could read other books in class and the professors wouldn't say a word.
At least that was one thing Harry was very jealous of.
He also noticed Vaughn showing up less and less at Slytherin Quidditch practices. When he mentioned this to Wood, the usually stormy-faced captain actually looked a little relieved.
Wood clapped Harry on the shoulder with bone-jarring enthusiasm. "Come on, Harry—Saturday's the match. Let's beat Slytherin!"
Yes—Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. This Saturday.
Time is a strange thing. If you say something will happen 'mid-month' or on a specific date, it feels far off. But the moment you say 'this week,' the pressure lands like a ton of bricks.
The day before the match, Harry was too restless to stay in the dormitory, so he gathered his friends for a walk in the courtyard.
It was freezing. Hermione conjured a flame and tucked it into a jar to keep them warm, then ran off to find Vaughn for more study.
Harry and Ron sat holding the jar, shivering in the cold wind.
Ron started lecturing Harry on his thoughts about Quidditch: "…I think you've got the advantage over Vaughn, really. All the best Seekers are small and light, making them fast and agile in the air. Vaughn's taller and bulkier than you."
Then he added, "But because they're small, Seekers also get knocked around a lot. Last year, England's Seeker got smashed midair and broke his arm. Heard the bone—"
Harry sniffed and instantly regretted listening to Ron. He had seen the Slytherin team. They were all built like trolls.
All day long, he kept picturing himself getting pummeled midair, smashed by multiple players, and plummeting to the ground.
So that night, when Vaughn came to cast the Dreamspell, Harry asked him to make it extra strong.
Vaughn warned, "Harry, the Dreamspell only affects your dreams. It doesn't help you sleep."
But Harry, just looking for some mental comfort, barely heard him.
Even though they'd be opponents on the Quidditch pitch the very next day, it didn't affect their friendship. Harry trusted Vaughn now, and when they parted that night, he even said in mock seriousness, "Good luck tomorrow. Friendship first, match second!"
"You too," Vaughn replied with a smile.
Rivalry and friendship—competition and cooperation—it all felt very grown-up, and Harry felt a strange, lofty sense of maturity and enlightenment.
And then… he couldn't sleep.
Turns out, he really wanted to win. He wanted to win against Vaughn, his friend who was better than him at almost everything.
Also, it confirmed that the Dreamspell indeed had zero effect on falling asleep. Harry lay there with his eyes wide open until dawn.
The next morning, Hogwarts was cold but bright—perfect Quidditch weather.
Harry, however, was in a foul mood.
"Eat something, Harry. You look awful."
"I don't want to," he muttered.
Hermione urged him gently, "At least have a bite. You'll be flying up there soon!"
That only made it worse—Harry's face turned green with nerves, and just looking at the food made his stomach churn.
All around them, the younger students were buzzing with excitement over the match. There was a lot to talk about—years of rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and now two of the most talked-about Seekers going head-to-head.
Everyone who passed by offered Harry encouragement.
The twins even slipped him a cookie. Harry didn't feel like eating, so when Ron arrived, he passed it to him.
Ron tried to cheer him up. "You've got to keep your strength up, mate. The Seekers are always the target—they'll be coming after you hard. You'll need all your energy."
As he spoke, he took a big bite of the cookie. "Mmm, not bad. Where'd you get this?"
"Fred and George gave it to me."
Harry watched Ron's face freeze. Two seconds later—POOF!
Ron exploded into a giant canary. Everyone around them jumped in shock. From a distance, the twins were dancing with glee.
"Perfect execution, Fred!"
"Flawless, George! Introducing: Canary Creams! Proudly brought to you by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!"
The enormous canary stared at them in disbelief. Then it began to molt. Once all the feathers had fallen, Ron returned to normal and immediately shouted: "You traitors! You gave that to Harry?!"
"No, no, little Ronnie—we knew Harry wouldn't eat. He'd definitely give it to you."
"Exactly, Fred! A flawless plan!"
"High five!" The twins clapped with glee.
As inappropriate as it was, seeing Ron get pranked by his brothers again cheered Harry up immensely.
Right before heading out to the pitch, he finally managed to force down a bowl of pumpkin juice and a slice of pie.
In the team locker room, dressed in his red uniform, Harry glanced back and saw Ron lingering at the door, staring at him with envy. Harry felt a little awkward.
"Uh… Ron, where's Hermione?"
"She went to find Vaughn. Hmph. She's a traitor, too!"
---
In the Slytherin locker room...
Slytherin's uniform was a silver-trimmed, emerald green cloak embroidered with a serpent.
Vaughn didn't like the color, but he had to admit—it looked good.
Hermione, holding her book close, beamed and made a fist at Vaughn. "Good luck out there!"
"Thanks, Hermione." Vaughn ruffled her hair gently. She blushed and ran off.
When he turned back, the other Slytherin players quickly averted their eyes, pretending not to have seen anything.
"What are you all staring at? Get ready!"
"Yes, Captain!"