He was too embarrassed to mention that his father had also considered just giving the team some Galleon before school started to get him directly on the team.
To be precise… not some!
A lot of Galleon.
"But I also feel it's not really necessary; it's just playing a game." Draco looked at the field: "If you're good, you're good; if not, you practice.
These little tricks won't make you fly faster when chasing the Golden Snitch on the field."
"Doesn't Professor Snape care?"
"No." Draco shook his head, "Slytherin has had this tradition for many years; I heard some older students from other families talk about it before.
Anyway, as long as they win, Professor Snape won't interfere; he's very busy too."
Speaking of this, Draco, perhaps due to his environment, certainly knew a lot more than Harry.
Harry suddenly thought of something and pulled out a packet of something, handing it to Draco.
"Oh, this is for you," Harry said.
Draco took it and saw it was a packet of tissues.
"You really brought them? Alright, where's your friend who would be very disappointed if you didn't participate in the Quidditch tryouts? Is it Granger?"
"No, she can't come; wasn't it said the tryouts would be held in secret?"
"Alright." Draco nodded: "Tell your friend I'm very sorry."
The Meteor in Harry's hand wriggled slightly.
"He says he'll let you know what kind of flying broom can be called top-tier."
Harry hadn't really figured out what Meteor wanted to express; since coming to school, he had become very quiet.
But thinking about it… Meteor must have wanted to express something provocative.
"Alright, let him wait and see." Draco put the tissues into his robe.
As they spoke, they arrived at the Quidditch pitch.
On the towering stands, there were only a few Slytherin girls.
On the pitch below, there were scattered boys wearing Slytherin green Quidditch robes.
The one leading them was very tall and burly compared to his peers, with many pimples on his face and protruding buck teeth.
To put it not so appropriately… he looked like a Troll.
However, no one would express this thought openly; that would be impolite.
"Just you?" Flint looked at Draco.
"No, also Potter." Draco pointed to Potter beside him.
Flint glanced at him, then burst into unrestrained laughter, pointing at the Meteor.
"This thing? Did you steal a broom from your Muggle relatives' house?"
"Potter, not every broom can be called a flying broom."
Harry held the Meteor, helplessly looking at the laughing group of people.
"Potter, want to use my broom?" a senior student said.
Harry recognized him, Remy Garrd, the newly appointed fifth-year Prefect this year.
"Garrd, it's none of your business." Flint swept Garrd aside.
"You can't get on the team with a broken broom." He looked disdainfully at Harry.
Saying that, he turned around and walked to an iron box, opening it.
Inside the box was a large red ball, about the size of a basketball, with clasps on it; this was a Quaffle, used for scoring goals.
And on either side of him were two balls about the size of shotputs; the reason they were described as shotputs was because they were shiny black, exuding a heavy metallic texture.
And they were also bound with leather straps, looking very dangerous and restless.
"The Seeker tryout is simple: three laps around the field, then serpentine around the goalposts, and finally catch the Golden Snitch!"
Saying that, Flint's gaze fell on a tiny clasp in the box, and he took out a small case.
After opening it, a delicate golden ball appeared.
It stretched its wings, as thin as a cicada's, then flapped once and disappeared into thin air.
"It won't run away, will it? What if we can't catch it!" Draco was a bit worried if he could catch this little guy; it disappeared in a blink of an eye and was so small, it must be very agile.
"This is a training Snitch; it won't fly out of the field." Marcus looked disdainfully at Draco, his gaze lingering on his broom for a while: "An ignorant rookie."
"You start first." Saying that, he pointed to Draco, then flew straight into the sky.
Harry looked at Draco and smiled: "It seems using too good a broom can also lead to some negative comments."
Draco looked at the few people who had flown into the sky and snorted disdainfully, "Anyway, they're not as fast as me."
With that, he flew straight into the sky.
Soon after everyone was ready, Draco began his flight.
His laps around the field were fast; the speed of the Nimbus was indeed not bad.
But when it came to circling the goalposts, due to turning issues, he couldn't help but slow down considerably.
Finally, finding the Golden Snitch took a long time.
It wasn't until almost half an hour later that he finally caught the Snitch.
"Twenty-three minutes, not bad." Flint casually glanced at the time.
Draco looked at Harry provocatively, clearly satisfied with this result.
"Alright, fall in!"
??
"Wait!" Harry looked at Flint and said seriously: "I really am here for the tryouts."
Flint's face stiffened as he turned around, looking at Harry with a dark expression: "Don't you think you're wasting time?"
Harry's expression didn't change; he took a slight step back, as this guy was being a bit overbearing.
"I understand you don't trust me and my broom." Harry tried his best to put himself in the other person's shoes.
"But as the team captain, you should at least be responsible for the tryouts, right? Besides, if brooms are really that important, why not just compete with brooms on the field?"
Flint looked at Harry with a darkened face.
"Fine!" He nodded decisively, turned around, and said in a very displeased tone: "Release all the balls!"
Immediately, all the balls were released.
"I'll show you how vulnerable you and your broken broom are on a real Quidditch pitch."
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