At dinner, Dumbledore announced that Professor Quirrell's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes would be temporarily replaced due to his injury. The specific arrangement would be announced later.
As he spoke, Hall felt Dumbledore's eyes linger on him.
What's he planning?
Hall couldn't shake the look in Dumbledore's eyes. Wariness. Suspicion.
I'm just a student. What's there to be wary of?
The problem was that Dumbledore knew his identity was false. He was accepted by Hogwarts, but as Headmaster, Dumbledore had countless ways to make things difficult.
Hall needed to defuse that suspicion.
Could I reveal myself as a Weasley? The name Weasley represents loyalty to Dumbledore.
No. Not yet. The Squib potion isn't finished. If my parents find out, Mum and Dad would make me give it away for free.
The thought made his chest ache.
Delay. At least until the potion is released. Dumbledore won't turn against me before then.
He opened the system panel.
Host: Hall Weasley
Bloodline: Wizard Bloodline (Slight Talent)
Magic: LV2 (0/200)
Physique: 8/10
Comprehension: 1/10
Talents:
S-Rank: Memory Palace (Upgradeable)
A-Rank: Disguise Mage (Upgradeable)
B-Rank: Potion Making (Complexion-Cleansing Draught, Squib Restoration Potion, Radiant Glow Potion, Smooth Hair Potion, Slimming Draught, Joy Potion)
C-Rank: Spells (Patronus Charm, Basic Transfiguration Charm {Self-Learned}, Petrificus Totalus, Finite Incantatem, Silencio)
Available Galleons: 2,478 Galleons, 6 Sickles, 23 Knuts
"Activate Quidditch talent. Upgrade magic by 200 points."
Flying lessons were this week. He'd always dreamed of soaring through the sky. And if he could, he wanted to play Quidditch. He'd watched matches with his family before — the rush of speed, the roar of the crowd, the hunt for the Snitch. Everyone wanted to be up there.
[Ding]
[Congratulations, Host. Magic Power has reached Level 3.]
[Congratulations, Host. Comprehension has increased.]
[Congratulations, Host. Bloodline has upgraded.]
[Panel Update]
Host: Hall Weasley
Bloodline: Wizard Bloodline (Quite Talented)
Magic Power: LV3 (0/300)
Comprehension: 2/10
C-Rank Abilities: Spells (Patronus Charm, Basic Transfiguration Charm {Self-Learned}, Petrificus Totalus, Finite Incantatem, Silencio), Quidditch Talent
Available Galleons: 378 Galleons, 6 Sickles, 23 Knuts
"Out of money again. Need to speed things up."
Flying lessons came later that week.
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Madam Hooch had grey hair, yellow hawk-like eyes, and a brisk, no-nonsense manner. Exactly what you'd expect from a flying instructor.
"Everyone stand to the left of your broomsticks. Right hand over the broom. Say 'Up.'"
The command was simple. Hall's broom responded instantly — leaping into his hand with a solid thwack. It felt like a connection. The broom understood him. An extension of his will.
He mounted and rose slowly. Not everyone could fly high immediately; there was always a psychological barrier. But for Hall, it felt natural.
As he was enjoying the sensation, a commotion broke out beside him.
Neville Longbottom was bouncing through the air like a ball, his broom completely out of control. Then he fell from the top of a tower, crashing to the ground. Madam Hooch suspended class immediately and took him to the infirmary, forbidding anyone from flying.
Of course. I finally get to fly, and now I can't.
Just as he was sulking, he heard Malfoy's boastful laugh. Malfoy was arguing with Harry in mid-air, holding a crystal ball.
"Henry, could you help Draco? He's too impulsive — I'm afraid he'll get hurt." Pansy tugged at his sleeve.
Malfoy. Eleven years old, and already has a girl worried about him. Unfair.
He looked Pansy up and down. Freckles, but good bone structure. And a yellow sapphire pendant around her neck, bigger than an egg.
"Two hundred Galleons."
Pansy nodded rapidly. "I didn't bring any. I'll get it when we get back to the dorm."
"Add it to the tab. Plus ten Galleons interest."
Her face darkened, but she gritted her teeth and agreed.
"Don't worry. I'll handle everything. Not a hair on your Draco's head will be harmed."
Pansy stamped her foot. "He's not my Draco."
Malfoy's laugh echoed across the pitch.
Hall grabbed a broom and shot into the sky.
Malfoy was hovering high above the pitch, taunting Harry with the crystal ball. Hall recognised the scene — this was exactly how Harry ended up as Gryffindor's Seeker.
No. Harry can't be chosen.
Hall's choice of Slytherin had been purely financial. But after days with his housemates, something had settled in his chest. A small thing. A grain of loyalty.
Slytherin hasn't won the Quidditch Cup since Potter started playing. That protagonist's luck is ridiculous. Every year I delay it counts.
"Draco. Give it to me."
Hall held out his hand. Malfoy's expression flickered — surprise, then suspicion. He thinks I'm helping Potter.
"Fine. You want one too?" Malfoy held up the crystal ball. "Then go get it."
He threw it. Hard.
Hall's face tightened. He kicked his broom and chased.
Hall grabbed a broom and shot into the sky.
Hall chased the crystal ball with single-minded focus.
The broom was a standard school model — designed for safety, not speed. No acceleration runes, no enchantments. Just a basic trainer.
He pressed his body flat against the handle, minimising wind resistance. The school broom screamed under the strain, reaching speeds it was never meant to achieve.
I need a professional broom. The Firebolt isn't in production yet, and a Nimbus 2000 costs two thousand Galleons. I'll have to find a way to get someone to fund one.
Through the spiritual connection with his broom, Hall pushed harder. Just a little faster. Just a little more.
The crystal ball was heading straight for the castle wall. He was going to be too late.
At the last moment, the broom — sensing his desperation — found one final burst of energy. Hall shot forward, reaching out, his fingers closing around the ball less than a meter from the wall.
The entire sequence took less than a minute.
The students below erupted. Gryffindor and Slytherin alike cheered. The catch was spectacular — more exciting than most school Quidditch matches, because the Snitch couldn't break.
But Hall felt something wrong.
The broom had lost its connection to him. It was like a car whose steering had been cut — completely unresponsive.
He was twenty-five meters up. Nothing to catch him. If he fell, it would be worse than Longbottom.
His mind raced. He looked around frantically, searching for the cause.
His eyesight was sharp. He spotted a figure hidden behind a Roman column in the first-floor corridor. Most of the body was concealed, but the head was visible.
Grey hair. Dark eyes.
Quirinus Quirrell.
Staring at him. Muttering something.
The man I saved from possession is trying to kill me.
Hall's anger flared. He should have snuck into the infirmary and knocked Quirrell out when he had the chance.
The broom began to buck wildly — left, right, up, down. His breakfast was being shaken loose.
He gritted his teeth, leaned forward, and extended a thread of his own magic into the broom. He could feel Quirrell's magic controlling it — a foreign presence, cold and invasive.
Hall pushed back. His magic was stronger now — Level 3. He began overriding Quirrell's control.
Then the broom flipped.
Hall was upside down, hanging by his knees, the ground rushing toward his face.
Screams erupted below. "William! Someone save him!"
He couldn't hear them. He was completely focused.
Sweat ran down his face. His muscles were taut, aching. A broom couldn't be tamed by the body alone — it was a magical tool. It required both physical control and magical power.
Hall made tiny adjustments, pressing himself closer to the broom, using his core strength, his thighs, his calves. He forced the broom to stabilise.
Then, in one explosive motion, he twisted his body, swung his legs around, and straddled the broom upright.
The burst of power drove Quirrell's magic out completely.
Hall felt the broom return to steady control. He exhaled.
He flew slowly and deliberately back to the ground.
The crowd erupted. "Henry! Henry! Henry!"
He landed to a hero's welcome. Hands clapped his shoulders, students hugged him. It was overwhelming.
"Henry William!"
A voice cut through the noise like a blade.
Everyone turned. A figure in black robes was striding toward them — Professor Snape, his face like thunder. Students parted before him like the sea.
Professor McGonagall followed behind.
"Henry William. Come with me." Snape's voice allowed no argument. He turned to the others. "The rest of you — follow Professor McGonagall's instructions."
He strode away without looking back.
Hall handed the crystal ball to McGonagall and ran after Snape.
He caught up in the corridor. Snape was waiting for him in the shadows, almost blending into the stone.
His eyes were fixed on Hall.
Scrutinising him.