Maranhao looked at Cedric's flushed face and clumsy movements, and suddenly burst into a giggle.
The Seeker who usually chased the Golden Snitch on the Quidditch pitch was actually a clumsy fool in private.
This contrast made her find him very amusing.
"You are really strange."
Maranhao said with a smile, taking off the thick coat and handing it back to him.
Cedric took the coat, unsure what to say, and could only stand there awkwardly.
Seeing that Cho was not angry, Charlie immediately seized the opportunity.
"Actually, Cedric wanted to say that the move you used to catch the Golden Snitch on the pitch last time was brilliant. He watched it several times and has been looking for a chance to discuss flying techniques with you."
When Quidditch was mentioned, the eyes of both Seekers lit up.
"The Wronski Feint?" Maranhao sat up straight.
"Yes!" Cedric finally regained his composure.
"The way you suddenly plummeted from thirty meters high and then pulled up at the last second—that angle was incredibly tricky."
"Your match against Slytherin last year was also impressive," Maranhao said.
"Flint is such a fierce Chaser, yet you managed to snatch the Snitch right under his nose."
The two became more animated the longer they talked, discussing everything from flying posture to broom maintenance, and from match tactics to the characteristics of different team Seekers.
The admiration in Cedric's eyes was undeniable, and Maranhao's eyes were also curved in a smile.
Charlie watched the two chatting enthusiastically, then quietly pointed outside the door, signaling that he was leaving first.
Cedric blinked gratefully.
Charlie softly closed the tower door and happily hummed a tune as he walked down the spiral staircase.
Although the "warmth strategy" had crashed and burned, the result was still pretty good.
However, in the shadows of the staircase corner, Charlie stopped.
Harry was standing there, his face as white as paper.
Harry had seen Cho head up to the tower alone around noon, and he had intended to come here to orchestrate a chance encounter, but instead, he witnessed the girl he loved chatting happily with someone else.
That person was Cedric, the direct reason Gryffindor lost the quidditch cup—the fundamental reason was something better left unsaid.
Seeing this scene, Charlie suddenly understood.
He looked at Harry sympathetically, and a sad piece of music even played in his mind—It's clearly a movie starring three people, yet I never get a name.
"Harry." Charlie walked over and patted his shoulder.
Harry looked up, his eyes vacant.
"There are plenty of fish in the sea," Charlie said earnestly.
"Why fixate on just one flower?"
"Charlie, do I still have a chance?" Harry's voice was hoarse.
"It's a bit slim. Cedric has the first-mover advantage," Charlie sighed.
"As you saw, they're getting along quite well."
Harry was silent for a moment, then looked at Charlie with sudden resentment.
"Why did you help Cedric chase a girl!"
Charlie spread his hands.
"He came to me first. And honestly, I didn't expect it to be Cho." He paused.
"Next time you like someone, tell me, and I'll help you pursue them."
Harry shook his head sadly and turned to walk down the stairs.
"I won't love again," he said as he walked, his voice echoing in the empty stairwell.
"I shouldn't be here; I should be at the bottom of the lake."
Charlie watched Harry's lonely retreating figure and shook his head helplessly.
Some feelings end before they even begin... In the period leading up to Halloween, discussions about the Triwizard Tournament were everywhere in the Castle.
Many older students tried to subtly probe Professor McGonagall, hoping to glean some information.
They were all dismissed by Professor McGonagall's stern retort: "Have you mastered your coursework? Have all your assignments been completed?"
Those who did not meet the age requirement racked their brains trying to bypass the 17-year-old restriction.
Regarding classes, Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class was becoming increasingly intense.
Moody even wanted the students to experience the feeling of the Imperio, but just as he finished speaking, the classroom door was violently thrown open.
Professor McGonagall rushed in, her face livid, looking like a cat with its fur standing on end.
"Alastor!" Her voice echoed in the classroom.
"These children are only in fourth year!"
Moody's expression changed, and he tried to speak, but he was immediately shut down by Professor McGonagall's relentless barrage.
"This is not something students at this stage should be experiencing! I truly don't know what you are thinking. This is Hogwarts, not an Auror training camp..."
The flood of words left Moody speechless.
Moody still wanted to argue, but Professor McGonagall was already ushering the students out.
All the students were escorted out of the classroom by her, with the demeanor of a protective mother hen guarding her chicks.
However, in Transfiguration Class the next day, Professor McGonagall showed no mercy.
"Given that you are approaching your O.W.L. Examinations," she said, writing a long list of assignments on the blackboard.
"I have decided to increase your after-class practice."
"But, Professor," Ernie raised his hand.
"O.W.L.s aren't until fifth year."
Professor McGonagall turned around, her eyes behind her spectacles frighteningly serious.
"Precisely why you need to prepare in advance. Only Charlie and Hermione in this class can successfully transform a hedgehog into a complete pincushion." She paused, scanning the class.
"Some people's pincushions even bite."
Ron shrank his neck; his pincushion had bitten Neville yesterday.
If there was one class Charlie liked best, it was Care of Magical Creatures Class.
The Blast-Ended Skrewts were a full circle larger than they were at the start of term, and their shells had hardened slightly.
As soon as class started, Charlie and Draco tacitly pulled out the seasonings they had prepared.
They had tried various flavors, including boiled Blast-Ended Skrewt, braised Blast-Ended Skrewt, and garlic-steamed Blast-Ended Skrewt, and had already eaten most of Hagrid's stock.
October 30th arrived, and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were about to arrive.
The atmosphere in the Castle had reached its peak.
Students were clustered everywhere in the corridors, discussing who would become the Hogwarts Champion.
"It must be Charlie."
"But he's only fourteen."
"So what? Rules are rigid, but people are flexible. Maybe the Principal will make an exception."
Similar conversations were happening all over the Castle.
Charlie's support was undoubtedly the highest; even the few who questioned it only did so because of his age. As for his strength, no one doubted it.
The Castle was thoroughly cleaned.
Several portraits that had been dusty for years were scrubbed clean by the House-elves, making the figures inside furious.
"That layer of protective color took me three hundred years to accumulate!" a Wizard dressed in Tudor Dynasty attire roared in his frame.
"Now it's all gone!"
"Oh, shut up," the Witch in the adjacent frame rolled her eyes.
"Three hundred years without washing your face? Aren't you embarrassed?"
The armor in the corridors was also polished until it gleamed, and it no longer creaked when it moved.
The decorations in the Great Hall were the most elaborate.
Huge silk banners were hung on the walls, each representing one of the Hogwarts Houses.
Gryffindor with its golden lion on a red background, Ravenclaw with its bronze eagle on a blue background, Hufflepuff with its black badger on a yellow background, and Slytherin with its silver serpent on a green background.
Behind the staff table hung the largest banner, featuring the Hogwarts crest: four animals surrounding a capitalized H, symbolizing the unity of the four Houses.
"Tsk, those banners must cost a lot of Galleons," Ron said, craning his neck.
"Don't get any ideas," Hermione warned.
"If you dare touch these decorations, Professor McGonagall will turn you into a banner and hang you up."
"I was just talking," Ron mumbled, shrinking his neck.
Neville suddenly leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Do you think the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students will be very good?"
"Of course they'll be good," Ron said naturally.
"Anyone who comes to participate in the Triwizard Tournament is extraordinary."
"Then won't Charlie be under a lot of pressure?" Neville looked worriedly at Charlie.
Charlie was leaning against the long table, holding a piece of pumpkin pasty and eating it with relish.
"I don't see him being nervous at all," Ron muttered.
"That's because he doesn't take it seriously at all," Hermione said, closing her book.
"Knowing Charlie's personality, he's probably thinking about what delicious food will be served at the feast."
As soon as she finished speaking, Charlie turned his head.
"Hermione, what did you just say?"
"...I said you must be thinking about the feast menu."
Charlie's eyes lit up: "Exactly! I heard Beauxbatons is a school in France. Do you think they'll bring authentic French Cuisine chefs with them?"
Hermione pressed her hand to her forehead, truly at a loss.
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