That afternoon, the news of Harry's exceptional entry into the Gryffindor Quidditch team spread throughout the school.
Even the ghosts floating through the halls were talking about it, not to mention the other students.
"The Seeker?" Ron exclaimed in surprise, forgetting even to take a bite of his pie. "But first-years never get in — you must be the youngest player in the house in many years."
"Probably in a century," Harry replied with a smile, adding, "Wood told me."
In the six years since his last enrollment, he had not been able to participate in Quidditch at all, not even to watch a match.
It was said that a few years ago, a student had fallen off his broom, and Headmaster Black had used that as an excuse to discontinue the school's Quidditch program.
Not only did the students curse him behind his back; even the ghosts gossiped about it, composing a song to "praise" Headmaster Black's great achievements.
Ron nodded in understanding. After all, Harry had not only caught the ball — he had also carried the heavy Malfoy.
"I'll start training next week," Harry said, raising his juice glass to clink with Ron's. "By the way, what did Malfoy say after I left?"
"Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood, and Hermione cleaned his mouth out with some cleaning potion, just like you did," Ron replied enthusiastically.
At that moment, Fred and George Weasley entered the Great Hall. They spotted Harry immediately and ran over.
"Alright, Harry," whispered George. "Wood told us that we're also on the house team — we'll be the Beaters, and our job is to make sure you don't get hit too hard."
"I guarantee we'll win the Quidditch Cup this year," Fred said. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year, our team will be amazing. You'll do great, Harry. Wood was practically incoherent when he told us — he's as strict as a mini-McGonagall on Quidditch, and we trust his judgment."
"But we have to go. Lee Jordan thinks he's found a new secret passage out of the school," George interrupted quickly. "I bet it's the one behind Gregory's statue, the same we found in our first week — bye!"
"Seriously," Harry said to Ron after the twins left, "I still can't tell Fred from George, even after knowing them for so long…"
"Honestly, neither can I," Ron shrugged.
Hermione sat beside him, holding a thick, ancient book almost as large as her torso.
"My goodness, what is that?" Ron asked, surprised.
"A pastime for after dinner," Hermione replied, thumping the book on the table.
"You call that a pastime?" Ron said dryly.
Hermione shot him a stern look, and Ron wisely kept quiet.
"To be honest," Ron said, glancing at Draco, who was talking and laughing with Crabbe and Goyle, "the flying lesson wasn't enough. I think Malfoy needs a good talking-to."
At the mention of Malfoy's name, Harry's good mood immediately soured.
If Cassandra knew her descendants had a scoundrel like that, she would probably have cast an Unforgivable Curse on him right then.
Thinking of this, his mood worsened, and his mind turned to the inaccessible Map Chamber.
He was certain there were clues in the Map Chamber.
He was only eleven years old. Did he really have to wait four years, until he turned fifteen and awakened his ancient magic, to enter the Chamber of Secrets?
"Look," Ron said, picking up a newspaper, "the Daily Prophet is still publishing the goblins' statement from Gringotts. They keep claiming that Gringotts is the safest place."
Gringotts?
Harry immediately remembered accompanying Hagrid to retrieve the small pouch, which clearly radiated the aura of ancient magic.
His intuition at the time told him that, with the help of that object, the age limit for ancient magic would no longer be an issue.
However…
Harry was still conflicted. After all, the object belonged to the headmaster and seemed quite valuable. How could he persuade the headmaster to lend it to him?
The next morning, when Harry and Ron entered the Great Hall and sat at the table, the messenger owls arrived, flying overhead.
Harry noticed four or five owls, each carrying a long, slender package in their talons. They circled in the air for a moment before landing directly in front of him.
"Ah, my chicken leg!" Ron exclaimed, dropping his leg when the package hit the floor.
Then Harry was drawn to the package.
"What's this?"
"Mate, help me open this, I want to see this letter," Harry said to Ron.
He opened the letter:
"Do not open the package on the table. It contains your newest flying broom — a Nimbus 2000. I don't want everyone to know you have a new broom, so they don't want one too. Oliver Wood will be waiting for you at the Quidditch pitch tonight at seven for your first training lesson. Professor Minerva McGonagall."
Harry dropped the letter, trying to stop Ron from opening the package, but it was too late.
Ron had already torn open the broom's wrapping, revealing the brand-new Nimbus 2000.
"Wow, mate!" Ron exclaimed in surprise. "A Nimbus 2000? Did you just get it?"
Next to him, Wood stared with obvious envy.
Wood, of course, assumed it was a gift from Professor McGonagall, but he could say nothing. After all, Harry was not just a Seeker who needed speed and a high-performance broom; his family was probably not wealthy either.
Yet that did not prevent envy — Harry was only a first-year student, which meant he could use the Nimbus 2000 for at least seven years!
"Remember to come train with me tonight," Wood said, trying to calm himself. After all, he was a fifth-year student and did not want to seem jealous. "Professor McGonagall already told me to train you urgently, so we can beat Slytherin in the next match — she told you that, right? After losing to Slytherin by a huge margin last year, she avoided Professor Snape for quite a while."
"Yes, I will," Harry nodded seriously.
If there was one thing he had longed for during his six years at Hogwarts, it was Quidditch, which Headmaster Black had forbidden him.
Black, you did so many terrible things!
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