Chapter - 4 The Quiver

Travis, Oliver, Harper, Redmond, Alison, Stewart, Peter

Peter - Seeker

Travis, Oliver - Beaters

Alison, Harper, Redmond - Chasers

Stewart - Keeper

Early the next morning, Peter dressed in his school robes before either Stewart or Alison was ready and went down to the common room. The portraits were yawning themselves awake, though Xin Li was already alert.

“Where are you off to, little Peter?” Xin asked.

“To the staffroom. Professor Lincoln wants my essay, but I’m not sure he’ll be awake yet.”

“Well, well, well. You have no idea, little one! Professor Madman rises before the sun and stays awake long after it sets. He spends his days and nights alone in his room, pacing up and down and talking to himself.”

“Doesn’t he have any friends?” Peter asked.

“None that I know of. His only friend seems to be the portrait of the Weeping Philosopher. Did you see it hanging in his classroom?”

“Yes. But it’s strange, keeping himself away from everyone like that. No wonder he’s always in such a bad mood.” Peter adjusted his bag. “Well, I’ll see you later, Xin. Bye!”

They waved goodbye, and Peter left the common room.

The castle was calm and silent. There were no students rushing through the corridors, no teachers shouting after them. Peter could hear his own footsteps as he approached the staffroom.

He knocked gently.

“Come in, Mr. Harrow.”

Peter entered, looking surprised. Once again, Professor Lincoln had known it was him without even looking.

Lincoln sat marking a pile of fifth-year test papers, pulling increasingly disgusted faces as he read.

Peter took the four-page essay from his bag and handed it to him.

“I’m sorry, Professor. It won’t happen again.”

Lincoln glanced up and smirked.

“It’s all right. I did worse in my day.”

He chuckled and set the essay aside.

“Professor, may I ask you something?”

“Go on,” Lincoln replied, returning to his marking.

“Where did you learn Foreseeking?”

Lincoln looked up at him and smiled.

“My coach taught me.”

“Could you teach me?”

“Why do you want to learn it?”

“I want to become a professional duellist when I finish school. It’s my biggest dream.”

Lincoln nodded, then lowered his eyes to the papers again.

“I’ll think about it.”

Peter nodded and turned to leave.

“Was your father Gerald Harrow? The famous Duelling Champion? I’m a great admirer of his work.”

Peter turned back at once.

“Sorry?”

“Gerald Harrow. Was he your father?”

Lincoln was looking at him with a warmth and curiosity Peter had never seen from him before.

“He was a remarkable duellist in his day. Then he vanished.”

“My father died before I was born,” Peter replied. “I never had the chance to know him.”

Lincoln’s smile faded. His face grew pale.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s all right, Professor.”

For a long moment, Lincoln simply stared at him.

“Has your mother told you much about him?” he asked at last.

“No. She says she’ll tell me when I turn thirteen.”

“I see.” Lincoln paused. “She’s trying to protect you.”

He glanced down at his papers before looking back at Peter.

“Well, it was good to talk to you. I’ll see you in class. Don’t be late, Peter.”

“Professor…”

Lincoln waited.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask.”

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Aren’t we playing Quidditch this year?”

“No. According to the Headmaster, you’re all too young.”

“But, Professor, we could win.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that?” Lincoln asked, amused. “They’d eat you alive.”

Peter gave him a small smirk.

“Slytherin is a threat to anything that threatens it, Professor.”

A spark of amusement lit Lincoln’s eyes. He smiled, recognising his own words.

“All right. I’ll speak to the Headmaster. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Professor!”

Peter’s face lit up, and he hurried out of the staffroom.

Lincoln watched him go, feeling a joy that was unfamiliar to him. For a moment, he lingered over the sight of little Peter disappearing down the corridor, smiling to himself as though he had discovered something special.

Then he returned to his marking.

By the time Peter returned, a few more students had gathered in the common room, adjusting their robes and chatting amongst themselves. He went into his dormitory and threw a pillow at Stewart’s sleeping head.

“I talked to him,” Peter announced, deliberately raising his voice.

“Hmm,” Stewart murmured in his sleep.

“He said he’ll talk to Flamel.”

“Hmm.”

“WAKE UP TO REALITY!”

Stewart jolted awake with a shudder.

Peter burst out laughing.

“Peter! Why?” Stewart groaned, flopping back onto his pillow.

With any hope of further sleep ruined, Stewart dragged himself out of bed and got ready. The two joined Alison in the common room, then headed to breakfast.

The Great Hall was already crowded. Throughout breakfast, Peter kept glancing towards the staff table, watching Professor Lincoln and Professor Flamel. Unfortunately, they were seated too far apart for him to catch any conversation between them.

Soon, Flamel rose and approached the podium. He cleared his throat to catch the students’ attention, and the hall fell silent.

“Good morning, my dear students. I have a small update regarding yesterday’s Quidditch announcement. As Slytherin consists entirely of first-years, we had intended to keep the house out of the competition until its students reached their fourth year. However, there has been a change of plans.”

Peter and Stewart stopped eating.

“I spoke with Professor Lincoln and Miss January this morning, and it appears that both their houses are interested in a match. So, I believe we have found a solution.”

Peter gave Stewart a puzzled look. Stewart looked equally confused.

“Our younger students cannot yet be expected to compete against experienced senior players. Therefore, this year, we shall hold a Junior Quidditch Championship between Gryffindor and Slytherin!”

Cheers erupted from both tables.

Peter and Stewart grinned at each other.

“Silence, please,” Flamel continued. “The match will follow the traditional rules of Quidditch, and each Head of House will appoint their team’s captain. Good luck to both houses!”

He stepped away from the podium.

Peter and Stewart hurried through the rest of their breakfast. Alison watched them with distaste.

“You’re behaving as though it’s the World Cup.”

“It is, Alison. It certainly is,” Peter replied with a chuckle.

Once they had finished, the three headed out of the Great Hall, only to be stopped by Professor Lincoln.

“Peter!”

Peter hurried over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“You’ll be captain.”

Lincoln’s expression remained neutral. Peter’s did not.

“I want you to put a team together. Find the strongest players in our house. Madam Rogers will train you over the next two months. Bring me a list of the students you consider suitable.”

“Of course, Professor. We won’t let you down!” Peter said firmly.

“Good. I want the list today.”

Lincoln walked away.

Peter’s smile faltered.

Today?

How was he supposed to find the strongest players in the house in a single day?

Stewart and Alison rushed over.

“What did he say?” Stewart asked.

“I’m captain.”

“Whoa! Congratulations, Pete!” Alison beamed.

Stewart looked considerably less pleased.

“Oh, come on! That could have been me if I’d gone to ask him.”

Peter barely heard him.

“What’s wrong?” Alison asked.

“I have to put the whole team together today!”

“What?” Stewart exclaimed.

“Why are you both so worried? There are already three of us. We only need four more,” Alison said.

“Three of us?” Stewart stared at her. “Have you ever even ridden a broom?”

“Of course I have. I’m less sure about you. You could barely sweep the floor yesterday. I don’t know how you’re going to fly.”

The two began arguing while Peter stood thinking.

“Guys!”

They fell silent.

“We need to work together on this. All right?” He looked from one to the other. “Let’s split up and find ourselves a team. Shall we?”

“Yes!” they replied together.

As they walked through the corridors, the three discussed possible names for the team. They had only been at Hogwarts for two days. Choosing almost anyone would be a gamble.

“Stewart, what are you best at?” Peter asked.

“Keeper. I’ll be the Keeper!” Stewart declared.

“Uh, all right. Alison, what do you want to be?”

“Chaser,” Alison replied simply.

“Right. Then I’ll be the Seeker.”

“What?” they said together.

“What qualifies you to be the Seeker?” Stewart asked.

“I’m good at catching things.”

“Chasers catch things too,” Alison pointed out.

“No, I mean I’m good at finding things.”

“Find the Bludgers, then,” Stewart suggested.

“Will you two stop messing with me?”

Stewart and Alison burst out laughing at Peter’s worried expression. He paused, then laughed along with them.

During History of Magic, they tore scraps of parchment into little notes and wrote the same question on each:

Do you want to join the team?

They passed them to every Slytherin in the classroom. Most ignored the notes. A few threw them onto the floor, then hurriedly picked them up again, remembering who would have to clean the classroom afterwards.

Their search continued over lunch.

“Come on, Travis. You’re always in the mood to hit someone. Why not hit Bludgers instead?”

Stewart was trying to persuade Travis Dickens, a tall, thin boy with a rather mean expression. Travis had a stammer, which his classmates frequently mocked, leaving him angry and unsure of himself.

“No,” Travis replied flatly.

“Why not?”

“Th-they already make fun of me in class. Then they’ll do it on the p-pitch too. I’ve had enough.”

He stood up.

“Then imagine the Bludgers are their faces. What would you do to them?”

Travis paused and looked back.

“I said no!”

He stormed away.

Farther along the table, Peter was speaking to Oliver.

“You’re the one who asked Professor Lincoln that question on the first night, aren’t you?”

Oliver nodded.

“Why don’t you speak?”

Oliver shook his head.

“Look, I know people pick on you because of your height and size. But who cares? Professor Lincoln has given us a chance to prove ourselves. To show the school that Slytherins aren’t just weaklings or losers. We’re descendants of the great Salazar—”

“I had food in my mouth,” Oliver said at last.

Peter stopped.

“I’m in.”

Oliver held out his hand. Peter shook it awkwardly.

Meanwhile, Alison had cornered Harper Green.

“All these boys think they’re better off without girls on the team.”

Harper didn’t look particularly interested. She had already made up her mind.

“You’re strong, tough, clever, and fast,” Alison continued. “I haven’t actually seen you do any of those things yet, but I’m sure you’d be perfect.”

“Alison, that all sounds very encouraging, but I promised my mum I wouldn’t get into trouble. I had quite a few fights at my last school.”

“All right. Your choice.”

“Cool.”

Harper smiled and turned away.

“By the way, Stewart said a broom in your hands would only be good for sweeping.”

Harper spun around.

“He said what?”

“Yes. He did.”

“Count. Me. In.”

A little later, the three gathered to compare their progress.

“Travis said no. Oliver’s in. Harper’s in. We need two more,” Peter said.

“Hi. Are you Peter Harrow?”

A boy had approached them.

“My friend said you were looking for players, but I didn’t get a note.”

Peter studied him. Stewart and Alison exchanged a glance, looking as though they had discovered a new species.

“Uh, yes. Sorry, who are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you in class.”

“Oh, right. I’m Redmond Bolt. I’ve been in my dormitory for the last two days. Didn’t really feel like coming out. But Quidditch interests me.”

Peter, Stewart, and Alison looked at one another.

“I’ve played loads with my friends,” Redmond continued. “I was a Chaser.”

“We’ve already got three Chasers, mate,” Stewart said.

“Oh. No room, then?”

Redmond’s face fell.

“No, there’s room! You can be a Chaser,” Peter said quickly.

Stewart stared at him.

“Make Oliver a Beater,” Peter whispered.

Stewart nodded.

“Brilliant! I’ll see you on the pitch!”

Redmond turned and walked away with a spring in his step, as though he had already won something.

“Redmond!” Peter called.

He turned back.

“We’re meeting in the common room tonight. If you see Harper or Oliver, tell them to come too.”

“Who are they?”

The three fell silent.

Of course he didn’t know them. He hadn’t been to a single lesson.

“Never mind. We’ll find them!” Peter replied.

Redmond waved and walked away.

“So,” Peter said, counting on his fingers, “Stewart’s Keeper. Alison, Harper, and Redmond are Chasers. Oliver’s a Beater, and I’m Seeker. We still need another Beater.”

Unnoticed by the three, Travis was listening from a short distance away.

The search went on all day. They approached almost everyone they could find, but nobody else seemed interested.

Then the sun set.

Harper, Oliver, and Redmond joined Peter, Stewart, and Alison in the common room for their first team meeting.

Harper kept shooting Stewart sharp looks.

“Why is she looking at me like that?” he whispered to Alison.

“Doesn’t seem to like you much. She said a broom in a Malfoy’s hands is only good for sweeping.”

Stewart began glaring back.

“Who are you?” Oliver asked Redmond.

“Redmond Bolt.”

He shook Oliver’s hand.

“I don’t come to lessons, so you probably haven’t seen me.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t want to.”

Oliver stared at him in amazement.

“All right, everyone,” Peter began. “I don’t know how to say this, but we’re still one player short. If any of you can persuade someone to join, we’ll take them. Doesn’t matter who—”

“No need. I’m here.”

Travis approached the group.

Stewart’s face lit up. His little speech had worked after all.

“T-Travis! Y-you came?” Oliver said, imitating his stammer.

He and Redmond burst out laughing.

Travis’s expression hardened.

“Hey!” Stewart snapped. “Make fun of him again, and you’re off the team.”

Their laughter stopped.

“Glad you came, Travis,” Stewart continued. “Ready to knock a few Bludgers about?”

“Yes. I’m ready!”

Travis brightened. So did Peter.

Peter stepped forward and addressed the team.

“Right, let’s go through it again. Travis and Oliver are our Beaters. Alison, Redmond, and Harper are our Chasers. Stewart’s Keeper, and I’m Seeker.”

He looked around at them.

“Let’s show Gryffindor their place!”

“Yes!” they shouted together.

“Oh… P-Peter. I’ve got some n-news about that,” Travis interrupted.

“What is it?”

“Miss January’s made G-George Smith the Gryffindor c-captain.”

“Oh, my God.”

Peter slapped a hand over his face. Stewart and Alison gasped.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Harper asked.

“That boy’s a spot,” Alison said. “A stubborn spot that won’t go away. We had a fight with him on the train. He was being horrible to all of us.”

“How did he get made captain?” Stewart demanded.

“Travis,” Peter said, lowering his hand. “What position is he playing?”

“S-Seeker.”

Peter buried his face in his hands again.

He hurried to Professor Lincoln’s office with the team list.

“Here you are, Professor!”

He placed a piece of parchment on the desk.

“Very well done!” Lincoln’s face brightened as he examined the names. “I trust you haven’t simply chosen people at random to fill the places.”

“No, not at all. They’re all the best at what they do,” Peter replied.

Or perhaps not, he thought.

“Well, in that case, I’ll stamp this and send it to Madam Rogers.”

“Thank you, Professor!”

Peter beamed.

“Off you go to the Great Hall, then. You’ll be given your training schedule there.”

Peter turned and hurried out.

The Slytherin Quidditch team was finally assembled. Together, they strode through the corridors as though they owned them.

“Ha! Look who it is!”

The mocking voice came from behind.

George Smith was at it again.

“George Smith!” Peter called back.

“Potty Harrow!”

The boys beside George chuckled.

Peter’s expression went blank.

It was the same name the bullies back home had used. Now someone else had discovered it.

But this time, he wasn’t going to take it.

“I hear you begged your way onto the team,” Peter replied.

The Slytherins chuckled.

“Well, here’s the thing, Potty.” George stepped closer. “The Snitch is made of gold. Try to keep that Niffler inside you under control.”

The boys behind him laughed.

“Here’s the thing, Poison Ivy,” Peter replied. “I’ll control my Niffler. You just make sure a Bludger doesn’t kill you.”

Laughter broke out amongst the Slytherins.

George went still. Then his face twisted with anger, and he drew his wand, pointing it at Peter.

“Careful, Poison Ivy,” Stewart said. “You ought to learn how to use that before waving it about.”

The Slytherin team roared with laughter.

George forced a smirk and slipped his wand back into his pocket.

“Typical!” he said loudly. “What else would you expect from a bunch of Death Eaters? Always talking about killing!”

“What did you just say?” Peter demanded.

“Death Eaters!” George repeated.

Nobody laughed this time. Not even the boys behind him.

“Dark wizards. A disgrace to our world!”

Peter’s fist struck George’s cheek, knocking him to the floor.

George’s teammates rushed to help him up.

“Let’s hope you don’t fall off your broom that easily, Poison Ivy!” Peter called as they hauled George away.

He watched them go, then turned towards his team.

“We need to shut them up,” he said. “All of them.”

The others listened in silence.

“For years, Slytherins have been treated like outcasts. Like we’re always the bad ones. But we’re going to change that.”

The team nodded.

“If we win this match…” Peter paused. “And we will win this match—we’ll be the stars of this school. The badass house of Slytherin!”

Smirks spread across their faces.

“Are you all in?” Peter called.

“We will win!” they shouted together.

The training schedules were handed to both captains. Madam Rogers had arranged for the teams to train on alternate days. For the next two months, they would have to rise early, head to the pitch, and spend hours on their brooms.

Peter watched his teammates push themselves, but deep down, he feared their efforts would not be enough. Losing was no longer an option. This was about his house’s dignity—and his own identity. He had to win, whatever the cost.

He had no idea what Smith would bring to the pitch on match day. He had to be prepared.

So he opened his mysterious notebook and began searching its pages. There had to be something that could help them win. A potion, perhaps, or a charm that would make them unbeatable. Stronger than ever.

Then his eyes fell upon a spell.

A wicked smile spread across his face.