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Chapter 38 – New Brooms, Old Rivalries
It was the weekend. Harry had planned to visit Hagrid with Hermione and Ron, but before he could enjoy even a few extra hours of sleep, he was shaken awake by Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain. Harry would have much preferred to roll over and go back to bed, but training clearly wasn't optional.
Still half-asleep, he rubbed at his eyes and blinked blearily toward the window. The sky outside was washed in pale pink and gold, a thin layer of mist drifting across the grounds. Birds were shrieking loudly—loud enough that Harry wondered how they hadn't woken him earlier.
He scribbled a quick note for Ron, grabbed his Nimbus 2000, and hurried out—only to get ambushed in the corridor by Colin Creevey. Colin managed to hold him up for what felt like an eternity before Harry finally escaped.
By the time he reached the Gryffindor locker room, half the morning seemed to have passed. They all dawdled getting into gear, but eventually made their way to the stadium. The sun was already high in the sky.
Harry had barely stepped behind the rest of his team when Wood's furious shout split the air.
"I booked the pitch for the entire morning!"
Harry pushed through to the front—and froze. The pitch was already occupied. Students in green robes zoomed overhead; Slytherin had begun training.
"Flint!" Wood yelled at the Slytherin captain. "This is our training time! We woke up at the crack of dawn! Get out!"
Marcus Flint looked far too pleased with himself. "Sorry, Wood," he drawled, waving a folded note. "But I've got Professor Snape's written permission. I, Professor Snape, allow the Slytherin team to use the Quidditch pitch today to train our new Seeker."
"You have a new Seeker?" Wood blinked, his anger momentarily replaced by curiosity. "Who?"
Harry stiffened. He spotted a familiar head of pale blond hair near the back of the Slytherin group—and instantly felt his stomach knot. Draco Malfoy was talented at nearly everything. If he'd decided to go for Seeker, Harry knew he'd be facing a formidable rival.
"Miss Pansy Parkinson," Flint announced smugly.
The Slytherin team shifted, revealing Pansy tucked behind Draco. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"You're letting a second-year girl be your Seeker?" Wood sputtered. "And isn't that Draco over there? With him, you've got an extra player on the field! What are you playing at?"
"Draco spent the summer working at Gringotts," Flint explained, in a tone that suggested bragging rather than clarifying. "He helped the goblins a great deal. They rewarded him—handsomely. And Draco, being generous, used part of that money to buy seven brand-new brooms for our team."
The Slytherin players proudly lifted their gleaming brooms into the sunlight—the latest Golden Wheel 2001s. Even Harry had to admit they looked impressive.
Flint's eyes glinted with malice. "Some families, of course, couldn't dream of affording this. Some people's fathers don't make this much in a year. And so the rest," he nodded at Fred and George, "have to sweep their rooms with old Cleansweep Fives."
The Weasley twins stared back, faces tight.
"But Draco doesn't want to join the team himself," Flint continued. "So he gave the Seeker spot to Pansy. He did agree to serve as our technical advisor, though."
Flint sighed dramatically. "If he'd agreed to play, we would've had this year's Cup in the bag."
Wood clenched his jaw. "We're leaving," he snapped. Even if Gryffindor had the right to the pitch, arguing with them—especially with Snape's involvement—was pointless. Slytherin wasn't budging.
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"Harry, why are you all back already?" Hermione asked when Harry and the rest of the team trudged into the stands looking miserable.
Harry explained everything. Ron's expression darkened immediately.
"He actually bought them off like that?" Ron grumbled. Hermione heard the jealousy under his irritation and shot him a look.
"Harry, don't let it get to you," she said firmly. "They're allowed to choose their equipment. And with Snape on their side, there's nothing we can do. You just need to focus on yourself."
Harry nodded but still felt unsettled. It wasn't only about losing the pitch—Slytherin's new brooms meant their next match was going to be brutal.
He looked back down at the field.
Pansy Parkinson was wobbling in the air on her new broom—clearly thrilled, her cheeks flushed bright pink. It reminded Harry of a die-hard fan suddenly being allowed to join her favorite World Cup team. Even if it was just a school match, her excitement was obvious.
"Attention, everyone!" Draco's voice rang out from below, magnified by a microphone. Every Slytherin player halted mid-air and turned toward him; each wore a small headset, a Muggle-style radio earpiece Draco had apparently modified to work within Hogwarts.
Harry frowned. It was strange—seeing Draco take command so naturally.
"Underestimating your opponent is underestimating yourself," Draco said, calm and precise. "No matter what equipment Gryffindor has, they're still a strong team."
The Slytherins listened intently. Despite Draco being only a second-year, he radiated authority—helped along by his top marks, reputation, and the fact that he'd bought their brooms.
"Today we have new equipment," Draco continued. "But that alone won't win the Cup. Harry Potter's Nimbus is only one generation behind ours. And the Weasley twins' old brooms, while ancient, are familiar to them—they know every quirk. Switching to brand-new brooms increases speed, but it increases risk as well."
The players nodded—several gripping their brooms tighter.
"I actually didn't want us to train today," Draco admitted. "If we'd kept our new brooms secret, we could've blindsided them during the match. Now they'll be expecting it."
Some players groaned softly.
"But," Draco added quickly, "seeing their captain's expression just now… well, they noticed us. And now the pressure's on them."
A spark lit in the Slytherins' eyes.
"We look down on the enemy strategically," Draco said, "but we take them seriously in tactics. Do you have confidence?"
"Yes!" the team roared.
"Good. Now—onto formations."
What followed was a long session of drills. Draco's strategy was clear: stall Harry at all costs.
Pansy, inexperienced but riding a top-tier broom, only needed to interfere with Harry long enough for the Slytherin Chasers—larger and stronger on average—to rack up points so overwhelming that catching the Snitch wouldn't save Gryffindor.
It was simple, and annoyingly effective.
"You don't trust me at all," Pansy muttered during a tight turn.
Draco only sighed.
"Remember our agreement," he murmured when she swooped low near him.
"I know, I know—you're so annoying," she huffed, waving him off.
Their training continued:
"Not so tight! Spread out!"
"Not that far! Are you planning to let someone fly straight through?"
Draco barked orders with the focus of someone twice his age.
Slytherin's green robes snapped in the wind as they pushed through drill after drill. The sun was bright, but the air was still sharp enough to sting exposed skin. None of them cared. They were hungry for a rematch with Gryffindor, determined to erase last year's loss—and with their brand-new brooms, they felt unstoppable.
"Alright, that's enough for today," Draco finally called. Training too hard would only risk injury.
Back on the ground, Pansy was still buzzing with excitement, hugging her broom like a prized treasure.
"Don't get too worked up," Draco said, resting his hands on her shoulders to calm her. "You'll have plenty more chances. Playing is always more fun than cheering from the stands, right?"
Pansy nodded hard, her face still flushed from wind and adrenaline.
"So remember our agreement," Draco repeated.
"…Yes." Her reply was almost a whisper. Then, cheeks burning, she muttered under her breath, "I'll do whatever you want tonight."
Every Slytherin player froze.
Then the entire team erupted into howls of laughter, catcalls, and knowing winks in Draco's direction.
Draco felt his soul attempting to escape his body.
If he could've, he would have coughed up blood on the spot.
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