Sadness and Death

Due to Headmaster Black's ban, Harry didn't know much about Quidditch. Naturally, he was eagerly looking forward to Wood's lessons.

After Wood delivered a lengthy and somewhat disorganized introduction to Quidditch, Harry suddenly asked, "So, has anyone ever died during a match? I mean, considering how high we fly and how often we dodge Bludgers..."

"How could that happen?" Wood replied, looking genuinely surprised. "The worst you might get is a broken jaw or a fractured limb. Even if you fall off, the field is enchanted with protective spells to ensure safety—you definitely won't die."

Harry was now convinced—this was all part of Black's conspiracy.

When Harry demonstrated a sudden dive-stop and a series of high-level maneuvers, Wood's expression shifted. What started as doubt about Harry's flying abilities quickly turned into admiration, and finally, outright confidence.

"This year's Quidditch Cup is as good as ours," Wood said excitedly. "You know, I once saw your dad's name on the Quidditch trophy—James Potter, right? He was a Chaser for Gryffindor."

"I heard from Hagrid that my dad was excellent at Quidditch," Harry replied, his tone brightening.

"Exactly! Flying talent runs in your blood," Wood said confidently. "Now, let's have our young Mr. Potter lead us to victory!"

Although Wood only taught Harry the rules of Quidditch, he didn't insist on Harry attending extra training sessions. To Wood, Harry's talent was so innate that he probably had been flying a broomstick around the yard before he could even walk.

With Hogwarts' schedule not being overly demanding, Harry often found time to relax. However, no class bored him more than Professor Quirrell's stammering, unfocused Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.

This is the worst professor ever, Harry thought.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table, Harry absentmindedly chewed on his sandwich, his thoughts drifting to a plan to explore the dungeons beneath the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom during his free time.

While he was lost in thought, Hermione suddenly let out an excited exclamation.

"Oh my goodness, Harry, Ron!"

She looked as though she had just discovered a new continent. Grabbing both boys, she slammed her small hand onto a thick book.

"What is it?" Ron asked, confused.

Could there be treasure hidden in the book? Otherwise, why would Hermione look so shocked and excited?

"Ever since Hagrid mentioned it, I've been searching for over half a month!" Hermione whispered, her voice brimming with excitement. Her hand pressed firmly on the book as if it might vanish. "Look, I finally found it—an article about Harry Potter's achievements. Let me see… Ron, Gareth Weasley—who is he to you?"

"My great-grandfather," Ron said with a shrug.

Harry, who had been indifferent to Hermione's discovery, suddenly looked up.

Good girl, you're just in time.

"Your great-grandfather? Ronald…" Hermione's eyes widened. "You never told us you had such an amazing great-grandfather!"

"I don't really know much about him," Ron said, spreading his hands helplessly.

Hermione gave Ron a subtle look of disapproval and resumed poring over the article.

Harry wanted to ask about Gareth's story but hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to know—it might be something he'd rather not hear.

"Look at this, Harry," Hermione said with a grin, pointing to a passage. "I finally understand why Peeves is so scared of you! He must think you're that Harry! See, he created a spell specifically to deal with Peeves—"

"How do you know Peeves is scared of Harry?" Ron asked, curious.

"Isn't it obvious, Ron?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Haven't you noticed that whenever we're with Harry, Peeves never messes with us? And on the first day of school, when Harry pointed his wand at Peeves, the guy fled in a panic. He must have mistaken Harry for someone else!"

"Cool," Ron said, intrigued. "Can you find out what that spell is? If we learn it, we'll never have to worry about Peeves again."

"I'll figure it out," Hermione said determinedly, her expression like a knight atop a dragon's peak.

Harry opened his mouth—he actually knew the spell and wanted to tell her.

"He was incredible," Hermione marveled, still reading. "It says here he invented that spell in his third year. Goodness, I can barely manage to learn charms now!"

"See if there's more," Ron urged, crawling under the table to sit closer to Hermione.

"Here, look," Hermione pointed to another section. "I never would have guessed, Ron. Your ancestor—a Weasley—was good friends with the Malfoys' ancestor? They were comrades against the Ash Serpent Order…"

"Impossible!" Ron's face turned crimson. "My great-grandfather couldn't have had anything to do with the Malfoys! Don't make things up!"

"See for yourself!" Hermione said quietly, shoving the book toward Ron and pointing to the passage. "Gareth Weasley, Poppy Switting, Cassandra Malfoy—they were all comrades of that Harry, fighting the Ashwinder and quelling the Goblin Rebellion…"

Ron leaned in, and to his dismay, the words were exactly as Hermione had said.

His face grew even redder as he muttered, insisting the article must be wrong. "How could a Weasley ever be friends with a Malfoy?"

"Do you think history books lie?" Hermione squinted at him.

"Well, I don't believe it," Ron said stubbornly.

As the two continued their debate, Harry suddenly said, "Why not ask the person involved? I mean, your great-grandfather, Gareth Weasley."

"My great-grandfather passed away before I was born," Ron said softly. "Even Bill and Charlie never met him. He didn't even leave a portrait."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry murmured, feeling a pang in his chest.

So Gareth was gone? Then…

Would Sebastian and Ominis also be gone?

What about Cassandra and Veratia—could they…

Harry's thoughts spiraled into chaos. The sudden realization that so many of his old friends might no longer be alive weighed heavily on him, leaving him in a dark and somber mood.

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