Captain Wood: Can Wizette Join the Gryffindor Team?

An invisible force enveloped Anthony's entire body, lifting him up to hover about ten centimeters off the ground.

Anthony gasped for air, his nose filled with the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. The sensation of surviving a near-death experience sent a shiver down his spine.

"Wizette? Mr. Goldstein?" Professor McGonagall's stern voice rang out. "You two... what on earth happened in flying class this time?"

Time wound back to three minutes prior.

"Professor McGonagall, after tomorrow's Quidditch tryouts, would we be able to use the Quidditch pitch?"

"Harry is only a first-year; he needs more practice coordinating with us," Oliver Wood asked as he followed behind Professor McGonagall.

As the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he always aimed to win the Quidditch Cup.

Since Charlie Weasley graduated, that goal had seemed increasingly distant—until Professor McGonagall introduced Harry Potter to him.

"I can negotiate with Professor Snape. He booked the pitch the day before yesterday," Professor McGonagall nodded.

Wood was somewhat impatient. "How about letting them practice two hours less? Half the time for each side would be perfect!"

"I will try," Professor McGonagall turned around, looking at Wood with a serious expression. "I know you are in a hurry, and I am anxious too, but the pitch is a shared facility."

Noticing Wood's anxious face, she suddenly realized something was amiss. "Mr. Wood, it is currently class time. Why are you not in History of Magic?"

Wood broke out in a cold sweat, his eyes darting around frantically as he tried to find something unrelated to distract Professor McGonagall's attention.

"Professor McGonagall, look! There's a flying class over there, and it seems there's another accident!"

Professor McGonagall remained unmoved. "Mr. Wood, I expect you to answer my question directly!"

As the Head of Gryffindor House, she knew Wood all too well. As long as it didn't involve Quidditch, Wood was a very well-behaved student.

But once Quidditch was involved, Wood seemed to transform into a different person, becoming extraordinarily fanatical...

Just like now.

"Unbelievable speed! A beautiful dive, so agile! How does he fly as if he were born to do it? That's a Shooting Star! An antique from 1955! Problems piling up..."

Wood rattled off rapidly, "Ah, he's saving someone... He should make it... No! Professor McGonagall, someone is about to fall!"

Professor McGonagall spun around. When she saw Wizette diving on his broomstick and another student falling straight toward the ground, her pupils instantly dilated to the size of pinpricks.

She quickly drew her wand. Just as she was about to transfigure the grass into a soft cushion, Wizette's wand flared with silver-blue light, halting the falling student's momentum.

With both of them safe, Professor McGonagall let out a sigh of relief and strode toward them. "Wizette? Mr. Goldstein? You two... why has another incident occurred in flying class?"

"Merlin's beard!" Madam Hooch finally arrived, panting. "Are you boys alright? Are you hurt anywhere? I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey!"

"This is quite enough! Yesterday, a competitive boy broke his wrist, and today a broomstick malfunctioned... Why does this keep happening lately?"

"Madam Hooch, you are too tense," Professor McGonagall adjusted her spectacles. "Accidents in flying class are quite common. Please do not take it to heart."

"Wizette, Mr. Goldstein, do either of you feel unwell? Do you need me to take you to the hospital wing?"

"No, we're fine!" Anthony waved his hands repeatedly. "It was actually quite thrilling! I almost thought I was dead!"

"Don't say another word!" Madam Hooch clutched her chest. "Two incidents in two days. Professor Trelawney was right, I've been plagued by bad luck lately!"

"Professor Trelawney?" Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, coughed lightly, and said, "You really shouldn't pay her any mind. This was merely an accident."

Wood picked up the broken broomstick to inspect it. "It is indeed an accident. The twigs have aged to the point of being completely unusable... Even if nothing happened today, it would have broken sooner or later."

"These brooms are forty or fifty-year-old antiques. It would be better to replace the whole lot. Continuing to use them might stifle many young talents."

"Madam Hooch, please return to your class. I will submit a request for a new set of broomsticks," Professor McGonagall said. "Mr. Wood, you should return to your class as well!"

As Madam Hooch led Wizette and the others away, Wood's face grew highly anxious. "Professor McGonagall, would it be possible for Wizette to join our team?"

"Though I haven't seen Harry's true skills yet, I've witnessed Wizette's talent! If both of them join the Gryffindor team..."

"We can definitely win the championship this year!" His eyes shone with intense desire. "If we don't win, I'll do a handstand while eating spaghetti!"

"Mr. Wood, get back to class immediately!" Professor McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "Otherwise... I shall be forced to deduct points!"

Watching Wood's retreating figure, Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "I would also like Wizette to join the team, but unfortunately, he belongs to Ravenclaw."

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Late at night, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore was flipping through an issue of *Transfiguration Today*. "A week has passed. What do you think?"

Snape paced back and forth in the room, his tone as slow as his footsteps. "Abysmal! Utterly abysmal! Just like his father—mediocre and arrogant."

"He loves breaking rules and shares the same passion for showing off. He only cares about drawing attention to himself but knows absolutely nothing. It's ridiculous!"

"Severus, perhaps you only see what you want to see," Dumbledore said softly. "The other professors all say he is a humble, gentle boy, with decent talent, and very well-liked."

"Oh, and so what?" Snape replied expressionlessly.

Dumbledore set the magazine down. "And what about the other boy? There was once someone who shared similarities with him, possessing an equally extraordinary talent, only slightly more handsome."

"He had an intense thirst for knowledge and was also favored by the professors—especially Professor Slughorn back then, who even invited him to join the Slug Club."

"I also heard a rumor that you awarded Ravenclaw five points. To achieve that, the difficulty is no less than joining the Slug Club..."

Snape seemed to recall something unpleasant; his expression darkened further, and even his footsteps halted.

Dumbledore continued to ask, "Severus, what do you think of him?"

Snape's jaw clenched, his voice carrying a hint of emotion. "If you perceive a similarity, you can strangle him in his cradle yourself. There is no need to ask me!"