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Chapter 10: The Mind of a Beater
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 18:23:15 +0000 UTC"But… Madam Hooch said she'd expel us!" Harry protested, his voice a panicked whisper. The adrenaline from his anger was rapidly being replaced by a cold, paralyzing fear.
Hermione stared at him, her expression a mixture of disbelief and profound disappointment. This was supposed to be the hero of the story? The boy who had survived a killing curse? He was hesitating. The original Hermione in the books would have been the one urging caution, but this Hermione, the one with the soul of a cynical, pragmatic adult, had no patience for it.
"And you're going to let that stop you?" she hissed, her voice a low, furious whisper. "He insulted Neville. He's mocking you in front of the entire school. And you're just going to stand there and let him?"
Malfoy, seeing Harry's hesitation from his perch high above, let out a derisive laugh that echoed across the lawn. "Haha, I knew it! Potter doesn't have the guts! Looks like Longbottom will have to climb the tower himself if he wants his little toy back!"
The insult, so public and so smug, was the final straw. A flash of genuine, unadulterated rage shot through Hermione. For the first time, she felt the primal, childish urge to just see Malfoy get punched in his stupid, arrogant face.
"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, jabbing a finger into Harry's back. "That's the Boy-Who-Lived? The vanquisher of the Dark Lord? You can survive a killing curse, but you can't handle a spoiled brat on a broomstick? Don't you dare tell anyone you know me when this is over. I have a reputation to maintain, and I will not be associated with that level of cowardice."
Her words were like a series of sharp, stinging slaps. Harry flinched, his face turning red with a mixture of shame and renewed anger. He looked around and saw the expectant faces of his fellow Gryffindors, all staring at him, waiting for their champion to act.
That was it. The peer pressure, coupled with Hermione's scathing indictment, finally broke through his fear. His expression hardened, his green eyes flashing with a righteous fury. In that moment, Malfoy's sneering face merged in his mind with that of his cousin Dudley, the bully who had tormented him for ten long years.
"We survived the Dark Lord, Harry!" Hermione shouted after him as he swung his leg over his broom. "Don't you dare lose face to a Malfoy!"
With a furious kick against the turf, he soared into the air.
"Go on, Harry!" a chorus of Gryffindors yelled, their voices a sudden, roaring wave of support.
Seeing Harry chasing him, Malfoy's confident smirk faltered. He turned and shot off across the grounds. But Harry's natural talent was a thing of beauty. He leaned into his broom, and it responded as if it were an extension of his own body, closing the distance with a speed that left the other first-years gasping. Malfoy's initial confidence quickly curdled into panic as he realized he couldn't out-fly him.
Then, a cunning, cruel smile spread across Malfoy's face. He wasn't just going to run. This was all part of his trap. He banked hard, flying straight towards a high tower of the castle, directly in front of a window Hermione recognized as belonging to Professor McGonagall's office. With a final, triumphant sneer, he hurled the Remembrall straight at the window.
Harry didn't think. He reacted. He dove, his body a green-and-black blur against the gray stone of the castle. The wind roared in his ears, his heart hammered against his ribs, but his eyes were locked on the glinting glass sphere. He accelerated past Malfoy, his fingers outstretched. The ground, hundreds of feet below, was a swirling vortex of color. Just inches from the windowpane, his fingers closed around the cool, smooth glass of the Remembrall. With an acrobatic feat of flying that should have been impossible for a novice, he pulled his broom up into a sharp, spinning brake, coming to a perfect, hovering halt.
Inside her office, Professor McGonagall looked up from her paperwork, her eyes widening in disbelief as a green-robed student performed a world-class Seeker's maneuver directly outside her window.
Malfoy, his part in the plan complete, landed with a triumphant thud, a smug smirk plastered on his face. He had lured Harry into breaking the rules in the most spectacular and undeniable way possible.
A moment later, McGonagall marched out onto the lawn, her face a thundercloud of stern fury.
"Harry Potter!" she barked, her voice echoing with an authority that instantly silenced the entire field.
The adrenaline that had fueled Harry's flight vanished, replaced by an icy dread that pooled in his stomach. He landed his broom, his legs shaking, and looked over at Hermione, his eyes wide with terror and accusation.
You did this, his look screamed. You pushed me into it.
Noticing his glare, Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes shifted to Hermione. "And you, Miss Granger," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I almost forgot about you. You'll come with me as well."
Hermione's carefully constructed composure finally cracked. What? Me?
She knew Harry wasn't going to be expelled; this was the moment he was recruited for the Quidditch team. But why was she being summoned? Was she being punished for inciting him? Or was this something else entirely? Confused, but not particularly worried, she followed McGonagall, who was leading a pale and trembling Harry toward the castle.
The walk through the corridors was tense and silent. Harry was radiating a palpable aura of doom, convinced his magical life was over before it had even begun.
"She's not going to expel you, you idiot," Hermione finally whispered, her patience wearing thin. "If she were, we'd be going to the Headmaster's office, not toward the classrooms. Think, Potter."
Harry seemed to realize the logic in her words, and a fraction of the tension left his shoulders. They finally stopped outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"Excuse me, Professor Quirrell," McGonagall said, poking her head into the room that smelled faintly of garlic. "Could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Quirrell nodded weakly, his stutter momentarily silenced. A tall, well-built older boy with a determined look on his face emerged from the classroom.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood," Professor McGonagall said, a rare, suppressed excitement in her voice. "Wood, I've found you a Seeker!"
Harry stood there, holding his broom, his expression a perfect picture of confusion. The emotional whiplash from expecting expulsion to being offered a spot on the most prestigious team in the school was too much for him to process.
Seeing his dumbfounded look, Hermione gave him a sharp slap on the back of the head. "She's putting you on the Gryffindor Quidditch team," she explained, as if to a small child. "Now thank the… Professor McGonagall." That was close, she thought. Almost called her a cat.
Harry's eyes widened in dawning, ecstatic realization. But before he could speak, McGonagall spoke again, a triumphant smile on her face.
"And Wood," she said, her gaze shifting to Hermione, "I've also found you a Beater."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. "Excuse me?" Hermione blurted out, her own shock now mirroring Harry's. A Beater? Me? On what possible grounds? I can't even summon my broom properly! This was the first time her careful plans and predictions had been so completely and utterly derailed. She had become an active participant in the story she was only supposed to be observing.
Seeing the incredulous look on her face, Professor McGonagall's smile widened. "Mr. Potter has the raw talent and instincts of a born Seeker. But you, Miss Granger, are something different. I've been observing you. You are calculating. You see the entire field, not just the obvious targets. You used logic to win a confrontation in Professor Snape's class, and you used advanced, life-saving magic to solve a problem during this very lesson without a moment's hesitation. You are ruthless when you need to be. That is the mind of a Beater. A protector and a disruptor."
Hermione's face darkened. Is that supposed to be a compliment? she thought. So that was how the professors saw her: a kind-hearted but evil-minded little genius.
"So, what do you think, Wood?" McGonagall asked, beaming, clearly delighted with her double discovery. "A double blessing for the team, wouldn't you say?"
Wood looked from Harry, who had probably never even seen a Quidditch match, to Hermione, who was practically vibrating with confusion and annoyance. The hope that had briefly lit up his face died, replaced by a look of utter, soul-crushing despair.
