"I think," Vincent Crabbe said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror, studying his face as he spoke, "Professor Gray must be some reclusive wizard who’s lived for hundreds of years."
"What are you on about?" Gregory Goyle replied, looking at Crabbe. "He doesn’t even look forty!"
Pop!
Two flashes of magical light swept over them.
Crabbe turned into Hermione, while Goyle became Harry.
They were currently inside Moaning Myrtle’s crumbling bathroom, practicing Disguise Self.
"That’s not impossible," Ron chimed in from where he was sitting on the edge of a sink. "Nicolas Flamel lived for over six hundred years, didn’t he?"
"If he hasn’t lived for hundreds of years, then I can’t imagine why he’s able to invent so many spells all by himself. An ordinary wizard would already be incredibly impressive if they created even one spell in their entire lifetime. Magic Missile!"
Hermione flicked her wand, and three red bolts shot from its tip. One struck the lid of a broken toilet stall, one slammed into the central pillar of the bathroom, and the last one flew into the sink Ron was sitting on.
"A 1st-circle spell, Magic Missile. Locks onto its target and never misses. How could something this simple and practical possibly have been invented by a wizard who isn’t even forty yet?"
Ever since successfully learning Disguise Self that night, Hermione’s incredible gift for learning seemed to have returned in full force. In just a few days, she had already mastered several spells.
And her attitude toward Lynn had done a complete one-eighty. What had started as resistance had now turned into admiration and respect.
"You’re the only one who thinks it’s simple. I’ve tried several times and still can’t cast it!" Harry said from the side, looking frustrated. Up to now, other than Disguise Self, the only spell he could reliably use was the simplest cantrip of all, Mage Hand.
"Don’t ask me. I don’t understand your ’Sorcerer’ way of casting at all." Hermione lowered her wand and said to Harry and Ron, "I think after Harry’s Quidditch match tomorrow, we can go get Malfoy to talk."
"Let’s wait a few more days..." Harry put his wand away too. "Whenever I turn into Goyle, I either make him too handsome or too ugly. I’ll definitely get caught."
"Too ugly is fine. He’s already ugly enough," Ron added.
...
Saturday morning, Harry woke up early.
Today’s match was against Slytherin, and the entire opposing team had been outfitted with Nimbus 2001s bought by Malfoy’s father. The thought put Harry under considerable pressure.
One glance out the window showed a sky packed with dark clouds, ready to break into a downpour at any moment. Harry grew even more uneasy. After lying there a while longer, he finally went down to the Great Hall. The other Gryffindor players were already there, crowded around the long table, all of them looking tense and nervous.
By eleven o’clock, the storm had still not let up. It was obvious they were in for a brutal match.
Inside the changing room, Oliver Wood was giving the team his usual pre-match speech to boost morale.
"As a Seeker, having a rich father isn’t enough! Harry, today you have to catch the Snitch before Malfoy does!"
Wood was especially fired up today, clearly furious from all the nonstop taunting coming from the other side.
Harry only nodded and said nothing.
Maybe it was the weather, but since that morning the scar on his forehead had been throbbing faintly.
Uneasily rubbing at it, Harry picked up his Nimbus 2000 and followed the team out into the gray curtain of rain.
The moment he was airborne, icy raindrops lashed his face like countless tiny needles. Even with his protective goggles on, his vision became terribly blurred. His robes were soaked through at once, clinging heavily to his body.
"Madam Hooch has blown the whistle... and the match has begun!" Lee Jordan’s commentary came through the storm in broken bursts.
Harry had barely risen into the air before he heard a terrifying whistling rush.
Whoosh!
A heavy black iron ball tore past his ear, close enough to make his cheek sting.
"Watch it, Harry!" George Weasley came hurtling over with his bat and smashed the Bludger away before it could swing back around for another shot. "What’s wrong with this thing? It’s like a mad dog!"
But the Bludger did not go after any of the other players.
Instead, it carved an impossible sharp angle through the air and locked onto Harry again like a missile.
No matter how Harry dove, spun, or braked, the damned Bludger stayed glued to him as though it had been hit with some kind of magnetic charm. Fred and George were forced to circle Harry like two satellites, which left the rest of the Gryffindor team completely exposed to Slytherin’s attacks.
Wood shouted desperately from in front of the goal hoops, "Harry, deal with that ball yourself! Or catch the Snitch quickly! We’re going to lose!"
"I’m trying!" Harry yelled back, swallowing rainwater as he did.
To keep his teammates from getting dragged into it, Harry pulled his broom upward and shot straight into the clouds.
The Bludger followed right behind him, shrieking through the air.
The wind up there was bitterly cold. Harry’s fingers had gone numb, and he could barely hold onto the broom handle. Rain plastered itself over his goggles, leaving him to dodge the repeated lethal attacks almost entirely on instinct.
"Damn it..."
He narrowly avoided another impact, but this time he felt the tail of his broom get clipped, sending his whole body lurching violently in midair.
At that moment, a streak of green shot past him.
Malfoy, riding his superior Nimbus 2001.
And Malfoy’s target was obvious. Not far ahead, half-hidden in the clouds, was a tiny flicker of gold.
The Snitch.
Harry tried to go after it, but the Bludger came again.
This time it was flying straight at him head-on, fast as lightning. Harry had no angle to dodge.
At this height, if he got hit, forget the Snitch, he would probably be badly injured and out of the match entirely.
"A 1st-circle spell, Magic Missile. Locks onto its target and never misses."
For some reason, Hermione’s words from the night before flashed through his mind.
Screw it, worth a try.
Harry let go with one hand and, struggling against the rain, pulled out his wand.
Just like when he had cast Disguise Self before, his mind now held only one pure, absolute thought:
Blow it apart!
He felt the magic inside him begin to surge wildly.
But this time, along with the familiar flow of magic, Harry also felt his scar suddenly burn hot. A violent, savage power seeped up from the depths of his soul and poured down his arm into his holly wand.
When the heavy Bludger was less than two meters away, Harry pointed his wand at it and shouted with everything he had:
"Magic Missile!"
Boom!
A thick dark green beam of energy erupted from the tip of his wand and slammed straight into the Bludger.
The iron ball, which should have been nearly indestructible, exploded instantly into metal dust and fragments. A black trail of residual energy hung in the air for a moment before being slowly washed away by the rain.
The sheer recoil threw Harry backward on his broom, nearly knocking him off.
With the obstacle gone, the air in front of him opened wide.
Harry flattened himself against the broom and shot through the storm of iron fragments like a fired bullet, diving straight for the Snitch as it veered sharply to the right.
Before Malfoy even had time to react, Harry’s fingers had already closed tightly around the tiny golden ball.
"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
...
At the same time, in the teachers’ stands.
Professor McGonagall was already on her feet, clapping and shouting, utterly unlike her usual self.
"Well done, Harry!"
The broad-shouldered Hagrid and Dumbledore, seated in the center, were both standing too, applauding Harry as he landed.
What was unusual was Lynn, seated beside Hagrid.
He was staring blankly at the sky in the distance, his expression extraordinarily grave.
"Eldritch Blast? That’s impossible."
No one else might have noticed, but Lynn, an 11th-level Wizard, knew that signature dark green light and black residual trail immediately.
"I never gave anyone the Warlock material. Even Dumbledore doesn’t know about it. So how in the world did Harry cast Eldritch Blast?"
Because he had been afraid that the Warlock class’s unique pact-based nature might interfere with this world, Lynn had deliberately kept the entire class completely hidden.
And the spell Harry had just cast was not the Magic Missile Harry thought it was.
It was the signature spell that only one class could use:
Eldritch Blast.
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