Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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*****

"Oh right, Harry, you mentioned something about first-years joining something earlier?"

After finally processing the Nimbus 2000 conversation, Rolf asked apologetically. He realized he'd been so caught up in the excitement that he rudely interrupted Harry.

"Joining the Quidditch House team," Harry replied. "I think I fly pretty well, so if I can sign up, I don't think it'll be too hard to make the team."

"Which means!"

Justin, who had been quiet, suddenly lit up. "If Harry joins the House team, he'll be able to openly use his Nimbus 2000, right?"

"Exactly!"

Rolf, slapping his leg in excitement, suddenly saw the bigger picture.

"Whether it works out or not, we should try! Professor Sprout is usually pretty easygoing."

"Let's go, Harry! Grab your Nimbus 2000, and let's ask her right now."

The three of them quickly jumped up, pulling Harry along as they raced back to their dormitory. However, it was already past eleven. Even though Hogwarts didn't have a strict curfew, students weren't allowed to wander around the castle after that hour.

"We'll have to wait until tomorrow," they sighed in disappointment. While night roaming was a Hufflepuff tradition, Filch wouldn't care about that, and neither would the professors outside the area from the common room to the kitchens. If they got caught, there'd be no getting out of it.

But before going to bed, they convinced Harry to take out his Nimbus 2000. The dorm didn't have much space, but it was enough for someone to hover a few feet off the ground.

Compared to actual flying, hovering was no big deal. Even Neville, who usually lacked confidence, was encouraged enough to sit on the Nimbus 2000. With a little help, he floated a few feet off the ground, his hand brushing the ceiling.

"I'm flying! And I didn't fall!"

Neville clenched his fists in excitement, his palms already damp with sweat.

"Of course, Neville! You just need more confidence. Remember how well you did in Potions your first time? And in Herbology, Professor Sprout gave you extra points for how well you handled the bouncing mushrooms. You planted their spores with no problem. You're just as capable as anyone else, Neville."

Neville's biggest flaw wasn't his forgetfulness—it was his lack of self-belief. Sure, he had moments where he couldn't remember things, but more often than not, his mistakes came from hesitating and second-guessing himself. Opportunities often came only once, and hesitation could lead to failure.

"That's right, Neville! You earned twenty-two points this week! No one else has scored that many points in their first week!"

"You broke the record for extra points! That's something really special!"

One by one, his friends offered words of encouragement, hoping Neville would believe in himself a little more. Their heartfelt support moved him deeply.

He gently floated back down to the ground, wiping his eyes with his chubby hands. When he looked up, Neville's face lit up with a grateful, beaming smile. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded and hugged each of them tightly.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible and a little choked. "I'm so glad to know all of you."

"We're just as lucky to know you, Neville," they replied.

With a heart full of gratitude for his friends and excitement for the next day, Neville tossed and turned in bed for a long time. As quiet snores began to fill the room, another peaceful night slipped away at Hogwarts.

On Monday morning, right after Transfiguration class ended, the others rushed Harry, still carrying his black dragon-hide backpack, straight to Professor Sprout's office.

"She doesn't have a class this morning, so she should be inside."

Rolf, feeling bold, knocked on the door. After a few moments, words appeared on the door: If you need me, I'm in Greenhouse Eleven.

"We should've known!"

The group groaned in frustration. Professor Sprout was famously passionate about plants. If she had any free time, she certainly wouldn't be sitting in her office—she'd be in the greenhouse tending to her precious magical plants.

The group hurriedly ran downstairs. By the time they reached the Hogwarts grounds, Harry was the only one not out of breath. The others were panting heavily. Hogwarts was wonderful, but its sheer size could be a hassle. The castle spanned an entire cliffside, stretching from the top all the way down to the Black Lake, and getting around was exhausting.

"We should work on our fitness," Harry said, trying to be encouraging. "We've only run for a few minutes, and we're already out of breath. A weak body isn't good for a wizard."

"Is that really a thing?"

Justin, who had been a bookworm for most of his life, wasn't great at physical activity—just like Neville. Neither of them had much stamina before they started training.

"I joined Professor Flitwick's Dueling Club," Harry explained. "One of the things we train is stamina. Even for wizards, having a strong body is essential if you want to do well in a fight."

"But what about Apparition?"

"Short-Distance, High-Frequency Apparition Takes a Greater Toll on the Body," Harry Rolled His Eyes

"There's no such thing as perfection—not even with magic."

"Oh," the two who had been disheartened by Harry's response slumped a little, slowing their pace.

"You know," Rolf said, eyeing Harry with suspicion. He had been out of breath earlier too, but nowhere near as bad as Neville and Justin. "Maybe it's not that we're weak, but that there's something up with you?"

"We've run nearly a mile already. Why aren't you even winded?"

Though Rolf was still young, he had spent plenty of time with his father and grandfather caring for magical creatures, and his stamina was certainly above average for his age. But even he was getting tired after that long run.

"If I wasn't breathing, how would I still be alive?" Harry puffed out his chest and struck a ridiculous pose, laughing like an over-the-top villain. "You guys are just too weak! Ahahaha!"

As the others aimed playful kicks at him, Harry darted ahead several meters, walking with exaggerated swagger. Even though they were annoyed and amused at the same time, the others had no choice but to follow. With the mood lightened, the remaining journey didn't feel quite as exhausting.

They soon reached the greenhouses near the Black Lake. Under the sunlight, the glass structures glittered in a spectrum of colors. Magical plants from all over the world thrived under Professor Sprout's care. The smaller the number of the greenhouse, the higher the danger level of the plants inside. Rumor had it that upper-year students once spotted something unspeakably tentacled in one of the single-digit greenhouses.

But those were just stories—probably exaggerated. The so-called "unspeakable tentacles" were likely just an overgrown Devil's Snare, twisted into a tale to scare the younger students.

Greenhouse Eleven, where they were headed, wasn't classified as particularly dangerous. By the fourth or fifth year, most students attended classes there, so it was considered safe.

After ringing the greenhouse doorbell, Professor Sprout's plump figure appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, children, what can I do for you?" she asked kindly, wiping her hands on her apron to rid them of the soil. She was usually quite approachable, as long as none of her beloved plants were harmed.

"Well, Professor..."

Harry stepped forward and explained the situation, telling her about his desire to join the Quidditch House team and his Nimbus 2000.

"I see."

After listening to Harry's explanation, Professor Sprout paused briefly, her eyes sweeping over the Nimbus 2000 in his hand before she spoke.

"I'll write to Madam Hooch. Your first flying lesson is tomorrow, right? If she approves, then I'll allow you to try out for the House team."

"After all, I'm not an expert on Quidditch, but Madam Hooch has the experience to make an informed decision."

"Thank you very much, Professor Sprout! I really appreciate the opportunity."

Harry quickly expressed his gratitude. It wasn't a direct yes, which was understandable. Trust couldn't be earned on words alone, but as long as he had a chance to prove himself, everything would be fine.

"If you're as good as you claim, it'll benefit both me and Hufflepuff," Professor Sprout said with a wave of her hand before her smile grew even warmer. "Now that you're here, why don't you come in? I could use an extra hand. All of you, come along."

Unable to refuse, the four reluctantly followed her into the greenhouse. As they expected, inside were piles of soil emitting a strange odor, and it was clear what their task would be.

"Well, if it isn't Harry!"

Two identical voices called out. The Weasley twins, with their fiery red hair, stood leaning on pitchforks, grinning broadly at the group.

"How touching! You must've sensed our need for help, right, Harry?"

"Absolutely! And you even brought three more helpers! How thoughtful!"

"Here, grab a pitchfork, hold this shovel. We've got fifteen tons of compost to mix, and if we don't hurry, we'll miss lunch."

The four of them, feeling a mix of dread and resignation, were soon outfitted with gloves and aprons. Together with the twins, they began shoveling and forking through the enormous piles of compost.

Whether or not today was lucky was hard to say, but it was definitely a day full of surprises.

(End of Chapter)