Chapter 99: An Excited Malfoy
"All right, go have breakfast first. I'll try to figure out a solution as soon as possible," Wood said. For the moment, he had no good ideas. The pitch had been taken over by Slytherin, so they couldn't train. "I'll go talk to them first. You all go eat—and if anyone comes up with a good idea, speak up. We need to think this through together."
"Let's get through this together!" Fred called out. With a frustrated sigh, he put the Shooting Star broom back into the cabinet and left the locker room.
One by one, the Gryffindor players filed out, leaving Wood behind, frowning to himself. I'll definitely find a way, he thought.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin players were flying proudly across the Quidditch pitch.
"Oh… oh… oh…!" they shouted excitedly as they cut through the wind. The rushing air whipped against their faces and bodies, and the speed of the new brooms thrilled them.
They needed this release. Last year, not only had they lost the Quidditch Cup they were supposed to defend, but they had also lost the House Cup at the last moment during the final feast before the holidays.
They had endured a miserable summer—but now it was a new year, a new chance.
"Gryffindor won't get lucky again."
On the very first Saturday of term, they had struck a heavy blow against Gryffindor. Seven Nimbus 2001 brooms, seven powerful players—forcing Gryffindor into retreat without even competing. What could be more satisfying than that?
Malfoy was especially pleased. Ever since he met Harry, they had clashed many times. But he believed this was only the beginning—he would never lose to Harry.
Ever since he decided to build a good relationship with George, his luck had improved. Early on, he had even received some exclusive Slytherin collection books—without spending a single Knut. When George accepted those books, Malfoy noticed how shaken Harry and Ron had been at the time.
"They've lost their support," Malfoy thought smugly, as if savoring a sweet victory. He had often imagined crushing Harry and Ron under his feet. Of course, that was only a small part of his fantasies—but to please George, he felt it was even more satisfying than hearing Harry and Ron panic or cry out in defeat.
Malfoy had carefully selected a book titled The Secrets of Meditation as a gift for George. This was no ordinary book. It had been written by a brilliant wizard in the Malfoy family's history, someone who had attempted to restore the power of ancient wizards. It symbolized the Malfoy family's long heritage, deep traditions, and pure-blood pride.
Only a powerful pure-blood family with such a long history, like the Malfoys, would have both the ability and the ambition to revive ancient magical power.
Malfoy pursed his lips. As for those lowly Mudbloods—or declining pure-blood families like the Longbottoms and the Weasleys—it was a miracle they could even remember modern spells, let alone touch ancient magic meant only for the most powerful and wise wizards.
Every time he thought of this, Malfoy couldn't help but tremble. He had always known George was exceptional, but now he realized he could never catch up to him—and that frustrated him.
George was hardly normal. How could an eleven-year-old have such height and build? And he had practically memorized all the public books in the library.
At first, Malfoy hadn't believed George could have read them all. But after forming a close relationship and interacting with him repeatedly, each encounter made him more certain: George's achievement as the greatest first-year in Hogwarts history was just the tip of the iceberg.
Beneath the calm surface lay something unfathomable. Even Hermione Granger's brilliance seemed childlike in comparison.
A chill ran through Malfoy. George's current strength is already comparable to a professor's—no, even stronger. A professor couldn't possibly restore the power of that ancient wizard.
Originally, Malfoy had given The Secrets of Meditation simply to build a connection with George. He had never expected George to actually restore those powers. After all, even the Malfoy family's greatest geniuses had spent decades trying—and failed.
This book, which once carried the dreams of generations of Malfoys, had become nothing more than a useless relic.
Yet somehow, it had ended up in George's hands—and been restored with ancient magic.
Malfoy still remembered his disbelief when he first learned meditation. He couldn't believe that the genius from his family had failed, yet George had succeeded. At first, he hadn't even intended to try it. But when George mentioned that he, Harry, and Ron would be training and sparring together, Malfoy reluctantly gave meditation a try out of curiosity.
Although it was just a meditation method George had casually chosen, it wasn't a coincidence—it suited Malfoy's physique perfectly.
He quickly felt its benefits: smoother blood flow, a calm mind, and easier control of magic. All of this fascinated him. He had never felt so powerful, nor had he ever had such direct control over his magic. It made him more confident and composed than even his usual arrogance suggested.
Throughout the entire summer, he trained diligently in meditation, spells, and flying. Even his homework had been done by hired help.
But all that effort paid off. On the Quidditch pitch, Malfoy easily defeated Slytherin's previous Seeker. With the new brooms, Slytherin forced Gryffindor into retreat without a fight.
"They don't stand a chance anymore," Malfoy sneered.
"Our Slytherin tactics aren't even tactics!" Flint shouted from the air as he addressed his teammates, explaining his "strategy."
"Ohhh!" The Slytherin players cheered loudly, encouraged by his confidence.
"We're all stronger than the Gryffindor players, and our Nimbus 2001 brooms are far better than their junk," Flint said, slowing down and hovering in midair as the others gathered around him.
"We're stronger," the Slytherin players echoed, completely confident in their superiority.
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