Draco was still very unconvinced. In fact, after Madam Hooch returned and got the class back on track, he was the first to look at Harry.
"Now, let's have a match." He stood face to face with Harry.
Harry had one foot casually draped over his broom, the other dangling, looking quite relaxed. He looked at Draco, then nodded helplessly, "Alright, if you insist."
However, what Harry didn't expect was that Draco actually flew quite well; his bragging seemed to be more than just bragging.
But when Harry's series of sharp turns and accelerations left Draco behind, Draco's face became even paler than before.
It almost made him collapse.
His family background, reputation, strength, and even his favorite flying broom technique were completely outclassed.
When Madam Hooch announced the end of class, he almost turned and left in a daze.
Crabbe and Goyle didn't catch up to him until the underground passage, both of them panting.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Crabbe asked.
"No, nothing, don't ask." Draco's voice was very soft; he had no intention of saying anything.
"Pure-blood supremacy." He muttered the slogan dryly, then walked into the common room. He then found a sofa, collapsed straight onto it, and closed his eyes.
But not long after, he heard some different voices.
It was Field, the guy who had been knocked out by Potter last Friday.
"I've had enough…"
"He must be taught a lesson…"
Thinking, Draco opened his eyes, and Field also noticed him and looked over.
"Malfoy, we're planning to have some fun with Potter, interested?"
However, the expected situation did not occur.
He just shook his head, then stood up and returned to his dormitory.
Field frowned until Draco's figure disappeared, then looked at Crabbe and Goyle.
"What's wrong with him?"
"We don't know either."
"Alright, what about you two, want to have some fun with Potter?"
The two chubby boys shook their heads repeatedly, flatly refusing his suggestion, "No, we're not looking for trouble."
Field grimaced, turned his head, and grumbled irritably, "Cowards."
He had planned a big operation, even involving those two third-year Wizards.
Most of those who enter Slytherin are pure-blood Wizards, and the circle is only so small. That Friday, those two third-year students stood out, which was already due to their slightly familiar relationship.
It's just that what they didn't expect was that after they stood out, they were completely ignored.
Saying that, they began their heated discussion again, a group of people loudly and uninhibitedly talking about ways to prank Harry.
Getting some ink on his clothes, and of course, his homework too.
Getting some glue on his comb.
In short, they would do whatever was most disgusting, just to make Harry suffer.
When an individual integrates into a group, the Little Wizards' previous apprehension towards Harry vanished, and they gradually began to speak loudly.
Right there in the common room.
Until a sigh interrupted them.
"I don't understand, what do I have to do to make you respect me a little? And I really don't understand what makes you dislike me so much.
Is it because I made a Gryffindor friend? But Slytherin and Gryffindor used to be friends."
Everyone listened to these words, their previous loud discussions gradually faded away. Some looked awkwardly at Harry at the door. Others, realizing "there are many of us," stared at him with feigned bravery.
"Why?" A person stood out. He was a head taller than Harry, with many stubble around his lips and some acne on his face.
"I'll tell you why, Potter." He approached Harry step by step.
"My father died in Azkaban. He was tortured to death by Dementors." There was an unquenchable anger in his eyes, and tears gradually overflowing.
"His relic was a piece of cloth, a will written in blood." He said.
Harry could also see this person's deep longing for his father at this moment. Because of this, he withdrew the words he was about to blurt out, and instead said, "I am very sorry, but I think this has nothing to do with me."
"No!" He roared, spittle flying and landing on Harry's face, "If… if it weren't for you, none of this would have happened."
Harry's face turned cold. He suppressed his inner anger as much as possible, and said seriously:
"If anyone wishes this hadn't happened, I think I'm certainly one of them! I sympathize with what you've been through, but I think we should change the subject."
"No—"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell came so swiftly, directly interrupting his roar. He could only maintain his roaring posture, his body stiffly tilting forward.
Harry slightly shifted, making way for him to fall.
Harry's face was indignant. How many good people could there be who went to Azkaban? Let alone blaming him.
Before putting on that sorrowful and angry pose, did he ever think about the families harmed by his father, did he ever think about the evil deeds his father had done?
Harry could guarantee that he had tried his best to empathize with the other party from the same perspective, and even suggested changing the subject.
"Harry Potter!" A roar came.
Looking in the direction of the sound, it was the third-year student who had stood out on Friday. He drew his wand, aimed it at Harry, and began chanting a spell.
Then, a blue light appeared before his eyes, rapidly approaching.
"Incar—cough—"
Wizards Hand didn't even need to condense into a specific form; it just needed to tap his throat lightly to easily interrupt his spell.
But at the same time, as another person made a move, the others had also drawn their wands and cast spells at him.
However, first and second-year Little Wizards hardly knew any spells, and even if they did, with no combat awareness, they couldn't use them flexibly at all.
"Leg-Locker Curse!" "Stupefy!" …
Harry also constantly waved his wand, dodging and weaving, his figure rapidly closing in. Sometimes he used Wizards Hand to interrupt the opponent's casting, sometimes he dodged, and if there was something he truly couldn't dodge, he had prepared for himself—"Protego!"
A yellow spell hit him, but had no effect.
"Stupefy!" Harry responded by casting a spell back. At the same time, he threw a punch at someone nearby.
With a bang, a boy lost control and fell backward.
Suddenly, the entire common room was in chaos. And around them, a group of older students watched the farce coldly from a distance.