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[Hogwarts] Ch 149: Win the Fight to Get the Pitch
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 18:45:17 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Centaurs were a proud race. To protect the dignity of their herd, they would face down enemies far stronger than themselves without hesitation.
But they were also a race of great wisdom.
Which meant they knew better than to provoke someone who could easily wipe them out.
In the past, there had only been one such person—Dumbledore. His bottom line was their bottom line.
That was why Magorian had backed down during Tom's conflict with Orion last time—even though Orion, who lost his arm, was his own son.
Yet less than a year later, the young wizard himself had become someone capable of annihilating their entire tribe.
Usaki was a far greater threat to the centaurs than their long-time nemesis, the Acromantulas. For one, Usaki could fly—fast. Their arrows couldn't even graze her. She could attack at will and vanish just as easily, holding all the cards.
Then there was the dragon's aura. Even the strongest centaur, just standing in that oppressive presence, would feel their courage drain away and their strength drop by a third.
Go complain to Dumbledore?
If it were Tom directly attacking them, Magorian would have gone, because for the survival of the herd, pride meant nothing. But like Tom had said yesterday—how was Dumbledore supposed to manage disputes between magical creatures?
Today it was Usaki. Tomorrow, what if the Acromantulas came again? The Forbidden Forest wasn't theirs alone, and Dumbledore wasn't their hired gamekeeper. It simply wasn't realistic.
So once Tom released Usaki, the choice was simple: submit, or face extinction.
Some ordinary centaurs might dream of fighting to the last breath. But as chief, Magorian wasn't about to make that kind of hot-headed, suicidal call.
Swallowing his bitterness, he finally spoke. "Riddle, I can teach you our herbal knowledge—but you must promise me, apart from Firenze, who already knows, you won't tell a single other centaur."
Yesterday, Firenze had told only Magorian about Tom's threat. The rest still thought that mysterious creature in the sky was some unknown magical beast, not the grim reaper watching them from above.
Magorian intended to keep it that way. If word spread, some centaurs would treat Tom as their mortal enemy. Even Magorian wouldn't be able to contain the chaos, and in the end it would be the centaurs who suffered most.
So he made a decision that went against his ancestors—keep it hidden, agree to Tom's terms, and pretend it never happened.
"No problem. I'm not much of a talker," Tom replied easily. "I only want the knowledge. The rest isn't my concern."
That eased Magorian's expression.
"Our understanding of herbs is no less deep than our understanding of the stars," he said. "But if you want to learn, you must first study our language. Too much is lost in translation."
Tom thought it over and decided. "Then let's do two hours a day, Monday to Friday, right here."
Magorian nodded. "Firenze will handle the language lessons. And the herbal work will be split between the two of us. Don't worry—Firenze is the second-best herbalist in the tribe, after me."
With the deal struck, Magorian left. Usaki didn't follow him—she draped herself around Tom's neck like a scaly scarf.
Then Firenze didn't waste time with small talk. He led Tom on a stroll through the Forbidden Forest, pointing out plants and animals, naming each in both centaur and human tongue, building his vocabulary.
Two hours later, Tom returned to the castle.
The days that followed were much the same, though now he brought a notebook and an Auto-Quill, turning Firenze's lessons into a growing dictionary for easy reference later.
Firenze couldn't help but admire the boy's diligence. Still, that didn't erase the past—and so, caught between resentment and reluctant respect, Firenze kept teaching until he felt wrung dry.
...
In just four days, Tom could hold everyday conversations in the centaur language. He'd memorized most of the Forest's useful herbs, with the rest to come during later lessons.
When Friday came, Firenze asked, "Riddle, next week you can start the real work. Herbs are a broad subject. Which area do you want to focus on?"
This wasn't him being thoughtful—they just wanted this walking disaster satisfied as quickly as possible so they'd never have to deal with him again.
"I need knowledge on keeping magical energy stable, sharpening perception, repairing objects, and blocking magical interference."
Firenze frowned. Of those, only magical stability and interference wards were in their wheelhouse. The rest… he and Magorian barely knew.
So before they could teach him, they'd have to learn it themselves.
Tom didn't even realize it, but he had this strange knack—no matter how skilled the teacher, they always ended up having to study something new just to teach him.
Andros the Invincible was still huffing his way through modern magic, learning it on the fly so he could pass it along.
The first Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald, was helping Tom research foreign magic systems so he could better grasp cultural differences in spellcraft.
Nicolas Flamel, alchemy's living legend, had tossed aside centuries of extravagant experiments and now spent every day grinding away at reducing the cost of "WhatsApp," with Tom as his daily progress check-in partner.
Even Snape, master of potions, was stuck with a bottle of "Lightning Elixir" and a hairdo that looked like he'd been caught in a storm.
Now it was the centaurs' turn.
---
Firenze left to discuss with Magorian—whatever happened, they had to come up with something in the next few days. If Tom suspected they were holding back, they'd have a whole new problem. Dealing with this brat was like paying off centuries of quiet living in the Forest all at once.
Tom headed back to his dorm. As soon as he walked in, his "WhatsApp" device buzzed.
It was a message from Hermione.
『Hermione Granger: Tom, are you free tomorrow for a tutoring session?』
『Tom Riddle: Sure. I've created something new, a half-finished prototype. You and Daphne can use it as a learning tool. But warning: Don't cry.』
『Hermione Granger: Say that to Daphne. I never cry. (smirking emoji)』
『Tom Riddle: Tomorrow morning, then. Afternoon we'll grab tea—let's invite Hannah too.』
『Hermione Granger: Deal. I'll finish all my weekend homework tonight.』
That was her last message—she was probably already buried in parchment. Tom passed the word to Daphne, who replied almost instantly and insisted on bringing Astoria along. Naturally, Tom had no objections.
— — —
Gryffindor Dorms
After a rough week, Harry was finally looking forward to a proper night's sleep and a completely stress-free weekend.
In the middle of his dream, though, his bed seemed to grow heavier and heavier until he could hardly breathe. Gasping, he opened his eyes—only to find a dark shadow completely blocking his view.
"Bloody hell!"
He jolted awake and bumped hard into the figure above him.
"Oliver? What on earth are you doing here?"
"Training," Oliver Wood grunted, one hand clamped over his nose. "Harry, Slytherin's got seven brand-new Nimbus 2001s. We can't waste any more time—we've got to make up for the gear gap with sheer effort and skill. Remember, last year we almost took the Cup…"
Harry's annoyance instantly gave way to guilt. If he hadn't been knocked out in the hospital wing last year, Gryffindor wouldn't have lost by the worst margin in three centuries.
He dragged himself out of bed, hunting for his team robes.
"Good man. See you in fifteen," Wood said before heading off to rouse the others. The twins were easy enough to get moving, but the three Chasers were another story. Wood ended up lurking like a creep outside the girls' dorm entrance. The first poor student to come out screamed in terror, and it took ages for him to convince her he wasn't some kind of pervert.
Fifteen minutes later, with Colin pestering him the whole way, Harry finally made it to the Quidditch changing room.
Fred and George were slumped against each other, nodding off. Alicia Spinnet was literally asleep against the wall. They only perked up a bit when Wood came barreling in, barking at them with way too much morning energy.
But his long, boring tactical lecture quickly turned into a lullaby. It wasn't until they stepped out onto the pitch for warm-ups and a blast of cold wind hit them that anyone felt truly awake.
Click
"What was that clicking sound?!" Fred shouted after a few high-speed laps. Then he spotted Colin, snapping photo after photo with his camera.
"What's going on?" Wood swooped down in front of him, frowning. "Who's this, and why is he taking pictures? Don't tell me he's a Slytherin spy?"
"He's a new Gryffindor," Harry explained quickly.
"Slytherin doesn't need spies," George muttered.
"How do you know?"
"Because they're already here," Fred said, pointing downwards.
Sure enough, several students in green robes had strolled onto the pitch, each holding a broom.
"This is our training time, Flint!" Wood stormed over, team in tow. "We booked the pitch!"
"It's a big field," Flint said with an indifferent shrug. "I don't mind sharing. In fact, you might even enjoy admiring our new brooms."
The Slytherin team raised their gleaming broomsticks in unison, gold lettering flashing—Nimbus 2001—so bright in the morning sun that the Gryffindors blinked.
"Get out," Wood said tightly. "We have Professor McGonagall's written permission. This is our slot, and you're not welcome here."
"Permission slip? What a coincidence." Flint laughed, tossing a piece of parchment in Wood's face. It read:
{I, Professor Severus Snape, grant the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to use the pitch on Saturdays for the purpose of training their new Seeker.}
"New Seeker?" Wood scanned the Slytherin lineup until his eyes landed on the small figure currently locked in a smug stare with Harry— Draco Malfoy.
Wood's mouth curled in a mocking smile. "Bought your way in, huh, rich boy? Slytherin really is going downhill."
Draco's smirk faltered. "Even without buying these brooms, I'd still be the Seeker. These are just gifts for my teammates."
To be fair, that wasn't entirely an exaggeration. Draco's build and agility did make him a decent fit for Seeker, and he'd been flying since he was little. He wasn't as naturally gifted as Harry, but among the current Slytherins, he was definitely one of the better options.
"....."
Neither side was willing to back down.
Just then, a clear voice called from the entrance.
"First come, first served—the pitch should go to Gryffindor."
Flint turned, ready to snap, but when he saw who it was, his expression shifted and he forced his temper down.
"Granger, we got our permission slip from Professor Snape on the first day of term. That makes us the earliest, doesn't it?"
The Slytherins, including Draco, all took a synchronized step back, leaving their captain to face Hermione alone. Flint silently cursed them for cowards. Normally, he'd have fired off three insults by now, but this was Riddle's friend—insulting her meant waking up in the hospital wing before morning, and even Snape couldn't save him from that.
After all, Tom Riddle was a Slytherin too, and their protective Head of House was useless in an internal feud.
"I applied on the first day as well," Wood cut in, pulling out McGonagall's slip. Sure enough, the dates matched exactly.
"So… half a day for each team?" Hermione suggested, testing the waters. She'd gotten up early, wandered out to the pitch to kill time while waiting for Tom and Daphne, and had stumbled into this argument.
She'd assumed it was just Slytherin being unreasonable, but now it was clear both sides had a point. She couldn't bring herself to take a side unfairly.
Neither Wood nor Flint liked the idea.
"What's all the noise about?" Tom arrived with the Greengrass sisters.
After hearing Hermione's explanation, Tom smiled. "That's easy to fix."
"You lot have a fight. Winner gets the pitch."
.
.
.
