Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

The two walked side by side down the corridor, their shadows stretched long by the firelight.

Draco began to talk enthusiastically about the strengths and weaknesses of the Slytherin team, while Henry listened attentively, occasionally asking a key question or two.

In the following days, Henry's life gained a new routine.

Every afternoon after tea, I would go to the Quidditch pitch.

Captain Flint initially only reluctantly allowed the freshman to watch, but his attitude soon changed.

Henry was never late and always wore the right training clothes.

He observed quietly, offering his opinions only when asked.

When Flint had the players practice specific formations, Henry would record the movements on a small magic drawing board on the sidelines, pointing out flaws several times.

At first, the team members didn't take it seriously, until one simulated match when the opposing team happened to exploit those loopholes to score.

"How did you figure that out?" Flint stopped Henry after a training session and asked gruffly.

The gorilla-like Quidditch captain was covered in sweat, but his eyes were full of curiosity.

"The perspective is different when you're watching from the sidelines," Henry replied calmly, showing his drawing board. "When you push forward on the left wing, the protection on the right wing will be delayed a bit. If the opposing ball chaser is sharp enough, they'll use that gap to break through the defense."

That's what they say, but nobody knows how much effort Henry actually put into designing these tactics.

Well, he gave so much; all he did was mail Sir Arnold books on Quidditch and detailed records of the Slytherin team's tactics each time.

A think tank, isn't that amazing?

Flint stared at the blueprints for a long time, then patted Henry's shoulder hard, so hard that Henry swayed.

"You'll play in the next practice session; try finding the ball's position."

This is a breakthrough, and a good start.

Henry didn't show any excitement, but simply nodded gently: "I'll be ready."

An even more interesting change occurred within Slytherin House. News of Harry Potter's exceptional entry into the Quidditch team had already spread, much to the excitement of the Gryffindors and the discontent of the Slytherins—until they began to hear that their own house might also have a secret weapon.

"Flint has let that freshman train with him," someone said.

"I heard he flies better than some third-year students," Bloody Barrow commented from the side. "At least that's what Flint said."

Some Slytherin students were discussing why Professor McGonagall could make an exception for Potter, so why couldn't Professor Snape give our people a chance?

Meanwhile, some of the portraits in the castle began to discuss things, especially along Professor Snape's usual route, where a few portraits were always talking about the jarring Potter.

These discussions, like a gentle stream, eventually flowed into the ears where they were meant to be.

On Friday afternoon, after Potions class, Professor Snape unusually did not leave the classroom immediately.

He stood behind the podium, scanning the students who were packing up their belongings with his dark eyes.

"Mr. Wells," he said slowly, "stay a moment."

The classroom fell silent. Draco, Pansy, and Daphne exchanged glances, trying to keep their expressions natural.

On the Gryffindor side, Potter, Weasley, and Granger also stopped what they were doing and looked over curiously.

Professor Snape looked at the few people who remained in the classroom, his voice as cold as a domineering CEO.

"What are you still doing here?"

Without hesitation, the group turned and ran.

Henry put the last textbook into his bag and calmly walked to the podium: "Professor."

Snape didn't speak immediately, but stared at him for a moment.

"I've heard some interesting rumors about flight lessons and rescues during class."

"Mr. Longbottom was in a dangerous situation, Professor," Henry replied, his tone neither humble nor arrogant. "Anyone who was able would have tried to help."

"Anyone capable?" Snape's expression was neither sinister nor ambiguous. "What noble conduct! I must applaud you... So tell me, Mr. Wells, are you interested in Quidditch?"

The question was straightforward and took Henry by surprise.

He answered cautiously, “I find flying itself enjoyable, Professor. As for Quidditch, it’s a sport that requires a high degree of skill and teamwork.”

"Captain Flint told me that you've attended every single practice the team has done this past week," Snape said, emerging from behind the podium, his black robes trailing softly on the floor. "He also said that you have an unusual insight into tactics."

When he said the last few words, there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, but his eyes were serious.

"I'm just offering some observations from an outsider's perspective, Professor," Henry replied gently.

Professor Snape glanced at the Gryffindor trio, who were slowly shuffling towards the door, actually eavesdropping.

Feeling the death stare, the trio slipped away without looking back.

Professor Snape turned his head, his tone greasy and drawn-out: "Professor McGonagall made an exception for Mr. Potter, making him the youngest Quidditch player of the century. It's an interesting precedent. Slytherin never begs for special treatment. But we won't allow other houses to have an unfair advantage either."

Henry raised an eyebrow, knowing what Snape was really thinking.

"Flint thinks you have potential," Snape continued, "to become a Seeker—or at least a player who can take on that position. The team's current bench isn't satisfactory."

He paused for a long time, so long that Henry almost thought the conversation was over.

"Starting next week," Snape finally said, "you will be a reserve player for the Slytherin Quidditch team. No special publicity, no exceptions announced. You are just another student who has performed well in practice and has been selected by the captain. You will participate in all practices, learn all positions, but you will not play this season unless there are extreme circumstances."

Henry remained composed: "I understand, Professor. Thank you for your trust."

"This isn't about trust," Snape said coldly. "It's a strategic necessity. Gryffindor has their 'genius Seeker'."

As he said this, he let out a sneer of extreme disgust.

"Slytherin needs an equal response. You fly well enough, you're clear-headed enough, and..."

His gaze fell on Henry's wrist.

"You've already proven your abilities in front of the entire school. Now, you need to prove you deserve this position."

"I will, Professor."

Snape nodded slightly, signaling the end of the conversation. Henry turned and left the classroom, feeling the gaze following him.

In the corridor, Draco, Pansy, and Daphne immediately surrounded them.

"How did it go? What did he say?" Draco asked eagerly.

"Starting next week," Henry said calmly, continuing to walk forward, "I'll be a reserve player for the team."

Pansy let out a suppressed cheer, and Daphne smiled sincerely.

Draco grinned and pumped his fist: "I knew it! Now, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and you versus Potter! This will make this year's Quidditch season even more exciting!"