Chapter 11
Harry and Ron’s visit to Hagrid’s hut that afternoon helped soothe Harry’s frayed nerves, at least for a little while. Hagrid’s warmth and friendliness had a way of making the darker thoughts retreat, even if only temporarily. They sat around the wooden table in the cozy hut, sipping tea from oversized mugs, while Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, snored peacefully by the fireplace.
But the problem with Snape lingered at the back of Harry’s mind, gnawing at him. It was more complicated than what the book had ever revealed. Snape hadn’t taken points from Gryffindor as Harry had expected, but his reaction when Harry answered the questions correctly had been unnerving. There was a flicker of something in Snape’s eyes, a recognition, a shift in his original plan. And Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he had exposed something, something Snape had noticed.
When Harry casually mentioned that he thought Snape hated him, Hagrid’s response—"Bollocks"—and the way he had immediately averted his gaze suddenly took on new meaning. Hagrid wasn’t just brushing off Harry’s concerns; he was hiding something. The slight unease in his expression, the way his large hands fidgeted with the teapot, suggested there was more to the story than Harry had originally thought.
Harry considered Hagrid’s history. The half-giant had been at Hogwarts long before Harry, even before his parents had attended. He had seen Snape, James, and Lily as students. Hagrid must have known about the animosity between Snape and Harry’s father, and he certainly would have known about the bond that had once existed between Snape and Harry’s mother.
As Hagrid, clearly trying to change the subject, began chatting with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch season, guilt flickering across his face, Harry’s mind raced. What did Hagrid really know?
Then Harry noticed a cut-out article about the break-in at Gringotts lying on the table. He picked it up and saw the familiar headline: "What’s New in the Gringotts Break-in Case?" He didn’t even need to read it—he already knew the details by heart. But the fact that Ron had mentioned articles about him on the second day of school made Harry pay closer attention. He had been reading the Daily Prophet daily ever since, and yet, he hadn’t seen this particular article before, meaning it must have been published a few days ago at least.
The article was cut out and left in plain sight. Book-Harry might not have thought much of it, but in this moment, something didn’t sit right with Harry. Why was it placed here so deliberately? Something was off, and the unease gnawed at him.
“Hagrid,” Harry began, trying to sound as casual as possible, “that break-in happened on my birthday. It could have even been while we were at Gringotts.”
Hagrid’s reaction, as described in the books, left no doubt that he was hiding something. But now, as Harry watched Hagrid’s face, he saw more than just secrecy—he saw guilt.
...
When Harry saw the announcement for the first flying lesson in the second week of school, he wondered if things would play out the way they had in the book. His small deviations from the original story had already caused changes he hadn’t anticipated.
Draco Malfoy was one of the biggest differences. In the books, Harry's rivalry with Malfoy starts almost immediately after their first meeting. Malfoy had mocked him, flaunted his packages of sweets from home, and made cruel jabs about Ron’s family's financial struggles.
But the Draco Malfoy Harry had met in real life was different. Since learning that Harry was Harry Potter, Malfoy hadn’t given him so much as a glance. He hadn’t sneered, teased, or even acknowledged Harry's presence. It was as if Harry didn’t exist in Malfoy’s world.
Unfortunately, Malfoy didn’t extend this strange indifference to Ron. He seemed to hold an immediate dislike for him. Harry had expected Malfoy to be a bully, but what surprised him now was how much Ron disliked Malfoy right from the start. It wasn’t just Ron, either. Fred and George also show an unusual and open hostility toward Malfoy, something Harry hasn’t fully grasped when reading the books.
During one of the frequent arguments between Ron and Malfoy, Harry casually turned to Neville and remarked, “Those two really don’t like each other, do they?”
To his surprise, it wasn’t Neville who answered, but Lavender Brown, who had been listening in. “Oh, that feud goes way back. My gran was at the wedding that started it all.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Lavender, noticing his interest, rolled her eyes but continued in a gossipy tone, “It was Cedrella Black and Septimus Weasley. A complete scandal. Cedrella was supposed to marry Abraxas Malfoy—Draco’s grandfather—but she broke off the engagement and married Septimus instead. The Weasleys had to pay off the marriage contract between the Blacks and the Malfoys, and they’ve been at each other’s throats ever since.”
Harry stared at Lavender, realizing that this wasn’t something he had ever read in the books but it would explain complex relationship between the Weasleys and the Malfoys.
During breakfast on the day of their first flying lesson, Harry couldn't help but notice Malfoy receiving yet another package from home, this one filled with sweets. Harry rolled his eyes involuntarily. In just two weeks at Hogwarts, Malfoy had received more treats than even Dudley would have managed to devour in a month.
His thoughts shifted as Neville, sitting further down the table, opened a small package and revealed a Remembrall, a gift from his grandmother. Harry knew what was coming—this small, seemingly insignificant moment would soon snowball into something far more critical. The upcoming flying lesson would be his best chance to make sure events aligned with the books, and he would need Malfoy to play his part.
Harry glanced at Malfoy, who had so far largely ignored him. Despite how much Malfoy had antagonized him in the books, he had kept his distance from Harry since learning who he was. This bothered Harry more than he expected—it was like waiting for a storm that refused to break. Malfoy’s indifference wasn’t just irritating; it was dangerous. Harry needed Malfoy to be the instigator, to set in motion the events that would ultimately lead to Harry joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
As the day wore on and the time for their flying lesson approached, Harry grew increasingly nervous. He knew what had to happen: Neville would lose control of his broom, fall, and break his wrist. Malfoy would swoop in, steal the Remembrall, and Harry would chase him, showing his incredible flying skill. But letting Neville get hurt, even if he knew it was coming, left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. If he prevented the fall, however, it might unravel too many key events—ones that Harry wasn’t sure how to fix.
When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch for the lesson, the excitement among the students was palpable. Madam Hooch stood in front of the class, stern as ever, barking orders for everyone to stand beside their brooms. Harry felt the weight of the situation as he eyed Neville nervously, his hands already gripping the handle of his broomstick.
"Up!" the class shouted in unison.
Harry’s broom shot up into his hand immediately, just as it had in the book. Neville’s, however, rolled pathetically on the ground, and Malfoy smirked at the sight. Harry noticed Ron struggling with his broom as well, but he offered a quick thumbs-up when he finally rose to meet his hand. Madam Hooch paced between the students, her sharp gaze assessing their performances.
Then came the moment Harry had been dreading. As Madam Hooch prepared to blow the whistle and give them the signal to kick off from the ground, Neville panicked. Before she could even finish counting down, Neville’s broom shot up into the air, carrying him higher and higher above the pitch. His face turned pale with fear as he clung desperately to the broomstick, swaying precariously.
“Come down, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, her voice ringing across the field, but Neville had already lost control.
Harry watched, his stomach twisting with guilt. He could’ve tried to stop Neville’s ascent, but he had chosen not to intervene. He had to let things play out.
With a gasp, Neville lost his grip and plummeted toward the ground. The class collectively winced as he landed with a thud, clutching his wrist in pain.
Madam Hooch rushed over and examined him briefly before announcing, “Broken wrist. Everyone stay where you are! I’ll take him to the hospital wing.”
As she led Neville away, Malfoy’s eyes gleamed. He spotted the Remembrall lying forgotten on the grass where Neville had dropped it and quickly snatched it up, a sneer spreading across his face. “Look at this,” Malfoy called, holding it up for everyone to see. “Poor, clumsy Longbottom. Guess he won’t be needing this.”
Harry’s heart raced. This was the moment. It was happening.
“Give it back, Malfoy,” Ron growled, stepping forward.
Malfoy sneered, tossing the Remembrall casually in the air. “Maybe I’ll leave it on the roof for him to find. How about that?”
Without a second thought, Harry stepped forward, every nerve in his body on edge as he blocked Ron. “Give it here, Malfoy,” he said, his voice steady but firm.
Malfoy grinned. “Come and get it.” He kicked off the ground and shot into the sky, the Remembrall still in hand.
Without hesitating, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off, feeling the rush of air as he soared after Malfoy. The exhilaration of flying was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, but Harry remained focused. He had to retrieve the Remembrall, and more importantly, he had to show what he could do in the air.
Malfoy sped up, glancing back to taunt Harry, but Harry was gaining on him quickly. With a surge of determination, Harry leaned forward, his broom responding instantly to his commands. He reached out, stretching his arm as far as it would go.
In one smooth motion, Harry snatched the Remembrall right out of Malfoy’s hand.
He pulled his broom to a halt in midair, holding the Remembrall high for everyone below to see. The Gryffindors erupted into cheers, while the Slytherins looked less pleased.
As Harry descended to the ground, his heart still pounding, he barely had time to bask in the moment before a familiar voice rang out across the field.
“POTTER!”
Professor McGonagall was marching toward him, her face set in a mixture of fury and disbelief. “Follow me, now,” she ordered.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Harry thought he was about to be expelled. But then he remembered what was supposed to happen. McGonagall was taking him to meet Oliver Wood, and he was about to be recruited for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The thought did little to calm his nerves, though, as he trailed behind her toward the castle.
In the end, things played out just as the books had described. McGonagall introduced him to Wood, who was more than enthusiastic about Harry’s flying abilities. Harry was officially named the new Seeker for the Gryffindor team, but as he walked back to the common room, he felt a sour taste in his mouth.