Chapter 95: Quidditch? I'm a Professional Cheerleader

Unconsciously, the sky had already brightened.

The first ray of morning sunlight gently pierced through the heavy clouds, like meticulously polished golden threads, softly and steadfastly penetrating the gaps in the curtains.

The sunlight cast dappled shadows on the curtains.

As the curtains swayed lightly, these shadows danced on the wall, resembling a group of mooncalves performing a dance.

On the spacious desk, various English breakfast items were neatly arranged, exuding a tempting aroma.

Golden fried eggs lay quietly on the plate, their edges slightly curled, radiating an enticing warmth. Next to them was a plate of perfectly toasted bread, its surface slightly browned, emitting a rich wheat fragrance.

A pot of hot tea was steaming, the tea's fragrance mingling with the aroma of the breakfast, forming a unique morning scent.

Beside the teacup was a small dish of jam, the bright red of raspberries and the deep blue of blueberries complementing each other, adding a touch of color to the breakfast.

At the corner of the table was a plate of freshly cut fruits—crystalline grapes, rosy apples, and golden bananas, looking particularly tempting in the morning light.

The entire office appeared peaceful and cozy in the morning sunlight.

Ino picked up his teacup, gently tapping the white cup with his right index finger. In an instant, the steaming hot tea became comfortably warm.

After finishing the cup of tea in one go, he remarked:

"Compared to black tea, I still prefer jasmine tea, the sweetness in its bitterness."

Even after living here for over ten years, he still couldn't get used to adding honey to black tea. Though it made the tea richer and smoother, he simply didn't like it.

"A very practical spell, some impatient people would probably love it," Dumbledore said with a smile.

Ino put down his teacup and half-jokingly said:

"Then they're bound to be disappointed, just like how many people love phoenixes, but phoenixes only favor the Dumbledore family."

Cooling down the tea was something he did intentionally. Although Dumbledore never mentioned the frozen Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom or the changes in hair and eye color, some things Dumbledore could choose not to mention, but he couldn't pretend they hadn't happened.

So, he made a joke to indicate that ice magic was a talent, just like the Dumbledore family's affinity with phoenixes.

He attributed it all to bloodline to reduce external attention. If anyone got curious, they would only investigate the Swinburne surname.

Sure enough, Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

"Yes, some people are destined to be disappointed. The secrets of magic have never been fully understood by anyone, not even Merlin. Just like Miss Tonks a few years ago—no one expected her to be a Metamorphmagus, waking up one morning with her hair turned purple..."

Listening to Dumbledore's rambling about past events, Ino realized how enjoyable it was to converse with a smart person.

At the same time, he increasingly appreciated Dumbledore's style of handling matters—solving problems unobtrusively, even preparing excuses and backup plans.

Mentioning Tonks, a Metamorphmagus who could change appearance without Polyjuice Potion, was a silent hint, telling him not to worry too much about slight changes in appearance since there was a precedent.

...

Time always passes silently.

At 8:30 AM, after finishing breakfast, Ino left the headmaster's office.

This exchange with Dumbledore was very satisfactory.

He not only expressed his inner concerns, reassuring the old headmaster, but also shifted Dumbledore's focus back to Harry.

Because, before leaving, he subtly mentioned that Harry also had a faint trace of evil and seduction, similar to that notebook, though much fainter in Harry.

Walking along the corridor paved with bluestone slabs on the eighth floor, although it was the weekend, there were many passing students after daybreak, which discouraged him from creating a slide to be lazy.

He honestly followed the moving stairs, descending layer by layer.

This morning, various matters came one after another, and now he finally had a rare moment to think quietly.

The bloodline was indeed genuine, he hadn't lied to Dumbledore about that.

But what puzzled him was the changes in himself.

Was it the uniqueness of the Room of Requirement, or the result of not suppressing his personality recently?

With this doubt, Ino slowly walked into the Slytherin common room.

...

Gently turning the doorknob of the dormitory, the door slowly opened.

Unexpectedly, Draco had already woken up early on a weekend morning.

Usually, he would lazily sleep until noon on weekends.

But today, Draco was already dressed, sitting by the bed, staring intently at the round table in the dormitory.

On the round table were seven long packages, all meticulously wrapped in leather paper.

Ino glanced at the dormitory clock, its hands just pointing to 9 o'clock. Undoubtedly, Draco had gotten up extraordinarily early.

"Did you rob the Quidditch boutique? Sitting here in a daze? Thinking about whether to turn yourself in to the Aurors?"

At the sound of his voice, Draco jolted, then turned around with a look of delight.

"You're back! I've been waiting for you—seven brooms, Nimbus 2001."

Draco proudly pointed at the packages on the round table.

"Ino, want to play Quidditch? Pick a position, I'll talk to Flint, this will definitely work!"

And before Ino could respond, Draco stammered:

"Uh... could you not... not pick the Seeker position? I want to have a proper match with Scarhead."

Seeing Draco's expression, Ino couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry, I won't take your position. Play your game. I prefer being a professional cheerleader."

"Professional cheerleader?" Draco asked in confusion.

"Yes, professional cheerleader, responsible for rousing the audience before the match."

"Isn't that the commentator's job?"

Seeing Draco still puzzled, Ino explained the specific responsibilities of professional cheerleaders in Muggle sports events.

In fact, after discovering the accordion's arrangement function, he had this idea, but at that time, being new and with Quirrell causing trouble, he had to put it aside.

Now that he had frozen the classroom, keeping a low profile was pointless.

The desire to perform in his bones surged again.

The 1998 "Cup of Life," the 2002 "Football Anthem," the 2006 "The Time of Our Lives," and even the 2010 South African World Cup classic "Waka Waka."

So many energetic songs, with a few words changed, could be performed in the Quidditch pitch.

If the response was good, he even thought about the Quidditch World Cup in the fourth year, gathering 100,000 wizards from around the world.

If he could perform there, he could pay off the 6,000 Galleons he owed Pansy for the house in one go.

After all, owing money was indeed unpleasant.