Michael breathed a sigh of relief: "Luckily we didn't get caught by Peeves. If he really called Filch, that would have been terrible."
"Peeves is unlikely to go to Filch," Vid said, pulling him up from the ground. "Did you forget? They hate each other, and Peeves would never willingly do something to make Filch happy."
"You're right," Michael nodded.
Peeves often caused trouble, either by knocking down statues or spilling ink everywhere, unintentionally adding a lot of work for the castle's caretaker, Filch, driving him mad.
The two of them walked up the spiral stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, round and round, becoming dizzy. They had to stop and rest from time to time, as their thighs felt sore and not their own.
Usually, at this time, Michael would be chattering nonstop — unless there was a pretty girl nearby, when he would pretend not to be tired and stop to rest under the pretense of taking care of the girl.
But today, Michael was very silent. It wasn't until they were nearly back at the common room that he spoke: "Tomorrow we have our flying lesson."
Vid: "Mm."
"Forget what I said before!" Michael said sulkily. "Just follow Madam Hooch's instructions and take it slow."
Vid helplessly said: "Neville's incident was just an accident; not everyone is as unlucky as him."
Michael probably knew this, but he still couldn't shake off the burden in his heart.
When they finally got back to the tower, it was already past curfew, but a few students were still gathered in the corridor. Not every Ravenclaw was good at solving riddles, and when faced with a knowledge blind spot, even the smartest brain couldn't help. So sometimes you'd see over twenty students standing outside the common room, discussing that day's question.
Vid walked over and knocked on the bronze door ring. The eagle-shaped beak on the ring suddenly opened, speaking in a gentle, chant-like voice: "Above and below are all hands, sometimes climbing, sometimes walking. Walk like a man, crawl like a dog."
One must correctly answer the eagle-shaped door ring's question for the common room door to open.
Michael imagined some kind of creature with hands all over, crawling in the dark, and said with a frightened face, "What kind of monster is this? Is it a—or some kind of demon god from mythology?"
Flustered, he rummaged through his bag to find his textbook, "Monsters and Their Origins," and flipped through it without hesitation.
"Don't bother looking. It's not in the book," a tired Ravenclaw student said. "I've already gone through the whole book."
The others silently nodded.
Vid stood by, pondering.
The bronze door ring was much like the legendary Sphinx; the questions it posed weren't necessarily difficult but were sometimes hard to think of. The ring never told them if it was a brainteaser or a riddle, nor did it hint whether the answer was plant, animal, tool, word, or something intangible like time or death.
This riddle, at first glance, had a Cthulhu style but seemed somewhat familiar.
"—Monkey?"
After a moment, Vid asked uncertainly.
"Correct answer," said the eagle-shaped door ring, and the wooden door opened.
...
After an incident during a flying lesson, breakfast was much quieter the next day. Students no longer tirelessly boasted about how they'd flown over mountains and seas on brooms; instead, another piece of news spread among the first-year students.
"Yesterday in flying class, didn't Harry Potter almost get into a fight with Slytherin's Malfoy? But guess what happened?" At the long table, Padma Patil said mysteriously to those around her, "I heard that because Harry Potter showed an amazing flying talent, not only was he not punished, but he was also recommended by Professor McGonagall to join Gryffindor's Quidditch team!"
Since she had a twin sister in Gryffindor College, she always got such information quickly.
"Really? Professor McGonagall?" The surrounding students were shocked. Everyone knew Professor McGonagall was the fairest and strictest professor at Hogwarts. She treated all four houses equally and never played favorites. This time she made an exception for Harry Potter; such a shock even momentarily made people forget the previous news.
But eventually, someone remembered.
"That's impossible," Terry said with conviction. "No first-year student has gotten onto a Quidditch team in a century! That must be a rumor!"
"Maybe as a reserve player or something," Anthony speculated. "After all, we all saw it: Potter really flew well, fast and agile. If the Gryffindor team turned him away, that would be unthinkable. But he's still a first-year, never ridden a broom before, doesn't even know the rules of Quidditch; joining the team outright would be too far-fetched—he should be just a reserve member."
Another student, Kevin, said, "Think about it: if Potter really joined the team exceptionally, the Weasley Brothers would have been shouting about it. Have you heard a peep from them?"
The analysis was reasonable, and everyone nodded in agreement.
Padma pursed her lips disdainfully and whispered to Michael, "Actually, Gryffindor's captain Wood wants to keep Harry Potter as a secret weapon, so he's keeping it under wraps. Those silly boys are just jealous and don't want to admit it."
Michael didn't remind her that he was also one of the boys, instead smiling and saying, "Maybe they just don't want to admit in front of a pretty girl that they're inferior to another guy."
Padma blushed slightly.
Vid glanced over, seeing Michael raise a single eyebrow at him, looking roguishly carefree as if he'd already shaken off the shadow from before, and couldn't help but also breathe a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the dining hall—a group of six long-eared owls flew laboriously into the hall, carrying a slender package, capturing everyone's attention. The owls swooped down, dropped the package in front of Harry Potter, then flapped away, leaving behind a few feathers.
Michael gasped sharply, gripping Vid's wrist, and whispered, "A broomstick! I'll bet you anything, that's definitely a flying broomstick!"
His eyes turned red with envy, and he spoke in a pained voice, "And it's a Nimbus series—I recognize that packaging!"
"Yeah," Vid pried his fingers away, putting his hand back on the table, nonchalantly saying, "If you do well in the flying class this afternoon, maybe you'll get a chance to join the team and get a new broom too!"
He was just speaking casually, but Michael seemed to take it seriously, his eyes becoming particularly focused, biting into his lamb chop with extra vigor.
Soon, it was time for the flying lesson.