After the clash, the Great Hall slowly returned to its usual rhythm.
Harry walked up to Charlie, gratitude shining in his eyes.
"Charlie, thank you."
"No big deal," Charlie replied coolly. "I don't like Malfoy either."
Neville, however, sat off to the side, slouched and defeated.
Malfoy's words still echoed in his head, each one a stinging reminder of his self-doubt.
Ron hurried over and patted Neville on the shoulder.
"Neville, don't listen to Malfoy's rubbish."
His tone was sincere.
"That guy's a prat. You're way better than him, really."
But Neville still looked gloomy. He mumbled, head down:
"But… he wasn't wrong."
"I really am hopeless. I haven't mastered a single proper spell."
"Even Seamus can do magic. I can't do anything."
Seamus: "???"
Mate, if you weren't so upset right now, I'd be tempted to hex you myself.
Neville's voice grew smaller and smaller, eyes rimmed with tears.
Charlie couldn't stand hearing it anymore. He sat beside Neville.
"Neville, don't let what others say define you."
His tone was calm.
"If someone bullies you, hit back."
"I used to get bullied too. But once I beat them all to the ground, no one dared again."
Neville's head snapped up, shocked.
"What? You got bullied?"
He could hardly believe it.
"But you're so strong! You even took down a troll!"
"Strength isn't something you're born with," Charlie said casually.
"It came from effort. And I learned something important along the way."
"The more you run from trouble, the more it finds you. The tougher you are, the less anyone dares mess with you."
Harry nodded. He'd always been tormented by Dudley. The more he tolerated it, the worse it got.
Neville still looked disheartened.
"But I really am dumb. Like Malfoy said, I haven't learned any spells."
"I just don't have talent for magic."
Charlie patted him on the shoulder.
"Being 'dumb' isn't something others get to decide. You've got your own strengths, you just haven't discovered them yet."
"Think about it. What class are you best at?"
Neville's eyes lit up a little.
"I guess… Herbology. Professor Sprout even praised me once."
"She said I had a gift with plants, that I could sense what they needed."
"There you go."
"You're better at Herbology than most people. Isn't that a talent?"
"Spells are just one part of magic, not the whole of it."
"So what if you're not good at casting? You've still got fists."
"They say Gryffindor's founder had a legendary sword and didn't care much for spells. He just charged in swinging."
"Courage matters more than magic."
Those words snapped something into place inside Neville. His eyes lit up with determination.
"Yeah! I could learn swordsmanship, or even fight barehanded!"
He clenched his fists, his whole aura shifting, like someone had flipped a switch.
Charlie looked at his suddenly fired-up expression and felt a chill down his spine.
Did… did I just lead him astray? What if Professor McGonagall comes after me for this?
Just then, Harry leaned in nervously and lowered his voice.
"Charlie, I want to ask you something."
"Could you enchant my broom so Malfoy can't curse it?"
Charlie blinked.
"You seriously think Malfoy has the skills to curse your broom?"
"He talks big. If he could really do it, he would've already."
But Harry still looked worried. He fidgeted anxiously.
"What if he gets Snape to do it for him?"
"His dad's on the Board of Governors. Snape might listen to him."
Charlie rolled his eyes internally.
Snape? Listening to anyone? Yeah, right.
"You clearly don't know Snape well enough."
"And besides, I'm in the same year as you. What makes you think I know that kind of advanced enchantment?"
Harry suddenly realized and scratched his head awkwardly.
"Right… sorry, Charlie. It's just… you feel so much older. Like you already know everything."
Charlie shook his head.
"If you're really that worried, go talk to Professor McGonagall."
"If Malfoy can run to his Head of House, so can you."
Harry's eyes lit up.
"You're right! Why didn't I think of that?"
He thanked Charlie and dashed off, brimming with new hope.
Charlie grabbed a chicken leg from the table and went back to eating.
Meanwhile, Harry jogged all the way to Professor McGonagall's office. He stood outside for a good while, took several deep breaths, then finally knocked.
He still felt a little intimidated by the stern professor.
When he entered, she was busy grading papers and didn't look up.
Harry immediately regretted not dragging Charlie along.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she asked without glancing up.
"Professor, I'd… like to ask for a favor," Harry said quietly.
She set down her quill and looked at him.
"What kind of favor?"
"I was wondering… if you could put a spell on my broom. To stop anyone from cursing it."
Professor McGonagall frowned.
"A curse? Mr. Potter, what exactly are you worried about?"
"It's just that… Malfoy said he'd jinx me during the Quidditch match so I'd fall," Harry stammered.
"Nonsense," she said sharply.
"No one at this school would curse a student."
Harry grew anxious seeing her so unmoved.
Then suddenly, inspiration struck.
"Actually, Professor, it was Charlie's idea!"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. She could believe Potter might be exaggerating, but Charlie?
"Mr. White said that?"
"Yes! Yes, exactly!" Harry nodded vigorously.
"Charlie said the professors are all upright, but there's still a chance someone might try something during the match."
"He thought it'd be safest to come to you for help."
McGonagall went quiet, thoughtful.
Charlie had a point. She would never tamper with a match, but certain black-robed professors… might be less principled.
She didn't believe Snape would seriously harm a student, but when it came to Quidditch and House pride… who knew?
"Mr. White is very perceptive," she finally said, nodding slowly.
"It is indeed better to be safe than sorry."
She stood up and began pacing the office.
"But if I only enchant your broom, it would appear unfair."
She stopped and looked at Harry.
"I've decided to place anti-curse charms on all participating players' brooms."
"That way, no one will be able to interfere with the match."
Harry grinned ear to ear. Mission accomplished. He left the office in high spirits.
Professor McGonagall wasted no time.
By early the next morning, she had summoned all four Heads of House and the Quidditch captains to discuss the protective enchantments.
No one objected.
And so, every Quidditch player's broom received a defensive spell.
The only one who looked distinctly awkward was Professor Snape, especially under McGonagall's oddly suspicious gaze.
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