NEW SEEKER

The Gryffindor first-years make their way onto the grounds for their inaugural flying lesson, only to find the Slytherins already there. A row of broomsticks lies on the ground, and Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, stands with her arms crossed, her hawk-like yellow eyes surveying the students.

As they approach, Ron leans in close to Harry, his face slightly pale. "I can't believe we're paired with Slytherin again," he whispers, "Fred and George told me horror stories about their first flying lesson. Said a Slytherin jinxed their brooms to buck like angry hippogriffs."

Harry glances at Ron, noticing his friend's hands trembling slightly. "I'm sure that's just them having a laugh," Harry reassures him, though he feels a flutter of nervousness in his own stomach.

Across the field, Marteen and Draco are already standing by their brooms, looking confident. Marteen catches Harry's eye and smirks, twirling his wand between his fingers in a not-so-subtle threat.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson," Madam Hooch's voice cuts through the chatter. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"

As they take their positions, Ron whispers again to Harry, "I've never flown before. What if I make a fool of myself?"

Before Harry can respond, Madam Hooch barks, "Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"

A chorus of "UP!" rings out across the field. Harry's broom jumps into his hand at once, but Ron's merely rolls over on the ground. Hermione's broom hasn't moved at all, while Neville's seems to be inching away from him.

Ron's face turns a deeper shade of red as he notices Marteen and Draco snickering at his failed attempt. "This is going to be a disaster," Ron mutters, his discomfort evident in every line of his body.

As Madam Hooch begins to demonstrate the proper grip, Harry can't help but wonder how this lesson will unfold, with the tension between houses and his best friend's obvious anxiety. He silently hopes that Ron's fears won't become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

As Madam Hooch instructs the class on proper broom handling, Neville fidgets nervously with his Remembrall, which he's kept in his pocket since breakfast. The small glass orb slips from his fingers, rolling towards the edge of the practice field.

"Oh no!" Neville exclaims, instinctively mounting his broom to retrieve it quickly.

"Mr. Longbottom, wait!" Madam Hooch calls out, but it's too late.

Neville kicks off hard, shooting into the air like a cork from a bottle. His broom, sensing his fear, begins to buck and swerve erratically. Students gasp and point as Neville rises higher, his face a mask of terror.

"How do I stop this thing?" Neville wails, clinging desperately to the handle.

The broom suddenly dives, spiraling towards a tall oak tree at the edge of the field. Neville, in a panic, lets go with one hand to shield his face. This imbalance sends the broom into a wild spin.

"Neville!"

Hermione shouts, her hands covering her mouth in horror.

With a sickening crunch, Neville and his broom collide with the tree's branches. He pinwheels through the air, landing hard on the ground with a thud.

Madam Hooch rushes over, her face pale. "Don't move, Mr. Longbottom," she says, kneeling beside him. After a quick examination, she announces, "Broken wrist. We'll need to get you to the hospital wing."

As she helps Neville to his feet, he whimpers, "My Remembrall... I've lost it."

Madam Hooch turns to the class, "Listen up, all of you. I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. If I see a single broom in the air while I'm gone, the culprit will be scrubbing cauldrons with Mr. Filch for a month. Is that clear?"

The students nod silently, some looking disappointed, others relieved.

"Good," Madam Hooch continues. "Keep your feet firmly on the ground. I'll be back shortly."

As Madam Hooch leads a sobbing Neville away, Harry notices Marteen bending down to pick something up from the grass - Neville's Remembrall, which must have fallen during the crash.

Harry steps forward, "Give it here, Grindelwald. That's Neville's."

Marteen smirks, tossing the Remembrall lightly in his hand. "Oh? And what if I don't want to, Potter?"

"It doesn't belong to you," Harry insists, holding out his hand. "Hand it over."

Instead of complying, Marteen suddenly mounts his broom. "If you want it so badly, Potter, come and get it!" He kicks off, soaring into the air.

Draco follows suit, laughing as he joins Marteen in the sky. "What's the matter, Potter? Scared of heights?"

Despite Hermione's warnings, Harry grabs his broom and takes off after them. To everyone's surprise, including his own, he handles the broom with unexpected skill.

Marteen and Draco begin tossing the Remembrall back and forth across the Hogwarts grounds. Harry weaves between them, trying to intercept the glittering orb.

"Too slow, Potter!" Marteen taunts, lobbing the Remembrall to Draco.

Harry urges his broom faster, diving and climbing as he chases after the Remembrall. The other students watch from below, gasping and cheering.

After several near misses, Harry's fingertips graze the Remembrall, but Draco snatches it away at the last second.

"Nice try, Potter!" Draco calls out. "But not good enough!"

Frustrated but determined, Harry pushes his broom to its limits. He's gaining on them, inch by inch.

After longtime, Harry chases after Marteen and Draco, who are tossing the Remembrall back and forth, the two Slytherin boys suddenly spot something in the distance.

"Madam Hooch!" Draco hisses.

Marteen nods quickly. "We need to get down. Now."

But before they descend, Draco makes a split-second decision. He winds up and hurls the Remembrall as far as he can across the grounds. "Let's see Potter get out of this one," he mutters.

As Draco and Marteen quickly land and try to look innocent, Harry remains oblivious to Madam Hooch's approach. His focus is solely on the glinting Remembrall arcing through the air.

Without hesitation, Harry goes into a steep dive. The ground rushes up to meet him as he streaks after the falling Remembrall. Just when it seems he'll crash, his fingers close around the orb. He pulls up sharply, his toes skimming the grass before he rises back into the air.

Cheers erupt from the Gryffindors below as Harry descends, clutching the Remembrall triumphantly. However, the celebration is short-lived.

"Mr. Potter!"

Madam Hooch's voice cuts through the air like a whip. "What do you think you're doing? I explicitly forbade flying in my absence!"

Harry's face pales as he realizes the trouble he's in. Madam Hooch strides towards him, her yellow eyes flashing with anger.

"I've never— In all my years—" she splutters, too angry to form complete sentences. "You could have broken your neck! Detention for a week, and—"

"Rolanda,"

A stern voice interrupts. Professor McGonagall approaches, her expression unreadable. "If you don't mind, I'll take it from here. Mr. Potter is in my house, after all."

Madam Hooch looks like she wants to argue but finally nods curtly. "Very well, Minerva. He's all yours."

McGonagall turns to Harry, "Potter, come with me to my office. Now."

As Harry follows Professor McGonagall across the grounds, he can't help but notice the smug looks on Draco and Marteen's faces. He clutches the Remembrall tightly, wondering if it was worth the trouble he's surely in.

The other students watch in tense silence as Harry disappears into the castle with Professor McGonagall, leaving behind a buzz of speculation about his fate.

As Harry disappears into the castle with Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch turns to the remaining students, her face stern.

"Well, that's quite enough excitement for one day. Class dismissed!"

The students begin to disperse, chattering excitedly about what they've just witnessed. Ron and Hermione, however, hang back, their eyes fixed on Draco and Marteen who are looking far too pleased with themselves.

Ron, his face flushed with anger, strides towards the Slytherin pair. "You two think you're clever, don't you?" he spits out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Hermione hurries to catch up, placing a restraining hand on Ron's arm.

"Ron, don't—"

But Ron shakes her off. "They set Harry up! They knew exactly what they were doing!"

Marteen raises an eyebrow, his expression one of mock innocence. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Weasley. We were simply having a bit of fun."

"Fun?" Hermione interjects, "You could have gotten Harry expelled! Not to mention how dangerous that was for everyone involved."

Draco sneers at her. "Nobody asked for your opinion, Granger. Why don't you go bury your nose in a book and leave the real wizards to talk?"

Ron's face turns an even deeper shade of red. He takes a step forward, but Hermione grabs his robes, holding him back.

"Real wizards?" she scoffs. "Real wizards don't need to resort to childish pranks to feel important."

"Watch your tone, Granger. You're out of your depth here." Marteen said.

"Are we?" Ron challenges, "Because from where I'm standing, you two are nothing but cowards. You ran away as soon as Madam Hooch showed up, leaving Harry to take the fall."

For a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps guilt?—crosses Draco's face, but it's quickly replaced by his usual sneer.

"And yet, Potter's the one in trouble, isn't he? Funny how that works out."

"This isn't over," Ron growls, as Hermione tugs insistently on his arm.

Marteen smirks. "Oh, I think it is. For now, at least. Run along, I'm sure you'll want to start packing Potter's things. After all, he might not be around much longer."

As Ron and Hermione turn to leave, both seething with anger and worry for their friend, they can hear Draco and Marteen's laughter echoing behind them. The confrontation has only deepened the rift between the houses, and both sides know that this is far from the end of their conflicts.

Harry follows Professor McGonagall through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, his heart pounding. As they turn a corner, they encounter Peeves the poltergeist, who's busy unscrewing a chandelier.

"Peeves!" McGonagall barks. "Don't you dare!"

Peeves cackles, sticking out his tongue before zooming away. McGonagall sighs, waving her wand to secure the chandelier.

"That poltergeist will be the death of me," she mutters.

They continue on, passing a group of older students practicing charms. One student accidentally sends a book flying, nearly hitting Harry. McGonagall deftly catches it with a flick of her wand, returning it to the embarrassed student with a stern look.

As they approach her office, they encounter Filch, the caretaker.

"Filch," McGonagall says briskly, "find Wood and bring to my office. Should be in Flitwick's class."

Harry's stomach drops. Wood? His mind races, imagining some sort of medieval punishment involving a wooden rod. He swallows hard, trying to keep his composure.

They enter McGonagall's office, a cozy room lined with bookshelves and featuring a large fireplace. A tabby cat lounges on the windowsill, eyeing Harry curiously.

"Sit down, Potter," McGonagall says, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.

Harry perches on the edge of the seat, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "Professor, I'm really sorry. I know I shouldn't have—"

McGonagall holds up a hand, silencing him. To Harry's surprise, a hint of a smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

"Potter, that was some exceptional flying out there."

Harry blinks, confused. Surely she's being sarcastic? "I... thank you, Professor, but I really didn't mean to cause trouble. It won't happen again, I promise."

McGonagall's eyebrows rise. "Cause trouble? Potter, I haven't seen flying like that in years. You're a natural on a broom."

Still convinced he's in deep trouble, Harry continues, "I understand if you need to punish me, Professor. I'll accept whatever detention you think is fair. I'll even help Mr. Filch clean the trophy room if that's what it takes."

McGonagall looks perplexed. "Detention? Potter, I'm not going to give you detention."

Harry's jaw drops. "You're... not? But I thought... when you asked for Wood..."

Before McGonagall can respond, there's a sharp knock at the door.

"Enter," McGonagall calls out.

Filch pokes his head in, "I've brought Wood, Professor, as you asked."

Harry's eyes widen in alarm. He turns to McGonagall, his voice trembling slightly.

"Professor, am I... am I about to get beaten with wood for detention?"

Just then, a tall, burly student steps into the office behind Filch. Harry blinks in confusion as McGonagall's lips twitch, fighting back a smile.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. He's a student, not a punishment implement."

Harry's face flushes red with embarrassment as he realizes his mistake. Oliver Wood looks equally confused, glancing between Harry and Professor McGonagall.

"Professor, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, indeed. Wood, I believe I've found you a new recruit for the team..."

McGonagall gestures for Wood to come closer. "Wood, we've found our new Seeker."

Wood's eyes widen as he looks at Harry with newfound interest. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," McGonagall nods. "I've just witnessed Potter here perform a fifty-foot dive and catch this—" she picks up the Remembrall from her desk, "—in mid-air. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood's face lights up with excitement. "Really? That's incredible!"

Harry, still reeling from the realization that he's not about to be punished, looks between McGonagall and Wood in confusion. "I'm sorry, but... what's a Seeker?"

McGonagall turns to Wood. "Perhaps you'd like to explain, Mr. Wood? You are the expert, after all."

Wood nods eagerly. "A Seeker is one of the positions in Quidditch, Potter. It's the most important player on the team. The Seeker's job is to catch the Golden Snitch - a small, fast-flying ball about the size of a walnut. Catching the Snitch ends the game and earns your team an extra hundred and fifty points. It's not easy - the Snitch is wicked fast and nearly impossible to see."

Harry listens, fascinated but still bewildered. "And... you think I could do this?"

"With that dive Professor McGonagall described? Absolutely!" Wood exclaims. "You'd need training, of course, but with your natural talent..."

McGonagall interrupts, "Of course, I'll need to speak with Professor Dumbledore about bending the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

As Wood begins to enthusiastically detail Quidditch strategies to a stunned Harry, McGonagall watches with a rare smile. What had started as a disciplinary meeting has turned into the potential beginning of a new Quidditch star's career at Hogwarts.

Later that day, in the Headmaster's office, Professor McGonagall stands before Albus Dumbledore, who is seated behind his ornate desk. The room is filled with curious magical instruments, their soft whirring providing a gentle background noise.

"Albus, I believe we need to make an exception to the first-year rule," McGonagall says, "Harry Potter has shown exceptional flying skills. I'd like your permission to allow him to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Seeker."

"Indeed? That is quite remarkable. And you believe he's ready for such a responsibility?" Dumbledore asked.

"I do. The boy has natural talent unlike anything I've seen in years. It would be a shame to let it go to waste." McGonagall said.

"Very well, Minerva. I trust your judgment in this matter. Harry Potter may join the Quidditch team."

"Thank you, Albus. I'll inform Wood immediately."

As she turns to leave, a thought strikes her. She pauses at the door and turns back.

"Albus, there's something else. I couldn't help but remember your prediction about young Marteen Grindelwald potentially becoming a close ally to Harry Potter. But after observing their interactions, I must say, I think your prediction might be off the mark this time."

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.

"They seem to genuinely dislike each other," McGonagall explains. "Marteen appears to have aligned himself with Draco Malfoy, and they've been quite antagonistic towards Harry. I don't see how they could ever become allies, let alone close friends."

Dumbledore listens patiently, then gives a serene smile. "Ah, Minerva. The paths of friendship, like those of magic, are often mysterious and unpredictable. Let us allow nature to take its course. Time has a way of bringing unlikely individuals together."

"If you say so, Albus. I hope you're right."

As she leaves the office, Dumbledore's eyes twinkle with a hint of knowing amusement. He turns to Fawkes, his phoenix, and murmurs,

"The most profound bonds often begin with the greatest conflicts, don't they, old friend?"

Fawkes trills softly in response, as Dumbledore settles back in his chair, pondering the future that lies ahead for Harry Potter and Marteen Grindelwald.

As the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the stone courtyard, Harry, Ron, and Hermione find a quiet spot near an old fountain to discuss the day's events. The gentle splashing of water provides a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

"A Seeker? That's brilliant, Harry!" Ron exclaims, idly tossing pebbles into the fountain.

Hermione frowns, her brow furrowed as she leans against a weathered pillar. "But isn't it dangerous? I've heard stories about players getting seriously hurt."

Harry shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant despite his own nerves. He sits on the fountain's edge, trailing his fingers through the cool water. "McGonagall seems to think I can handle it."

Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Fred and George Weasley, who bound into the courtyard with matching grins.

"Well, well, if it isn't Gryffindor's new secret weapon," Fred says, ruffling Harry's hair.

George nods sagely. "Wood's been practically doing cartwheels since McGonagall told him. I think he might burst from excitement before your first practice."

Harry feels his face heat up. "Is it true that someone once got knocked out cold for a week after a match?"

The twins exchange glances. "Well," Fred begins, perching on the fountain next to Harry.

"There was this one time—"

"When a Bludger went absolutely mental—"

"And poor Archibald Fizzlebottom slept through his O.W.L.s!" they finish in unison.

Hermione gasps. "That's dreadful!"

Ron rolls his eyes. "Oh, come off it. They're just trying to wind you up, Harry."

"Are we though?" George asksed.

Fred nods solemnly. "Quidditch is no picnic, Harry. It's a game of guts, glory, and—"

"Occasional trips to the hospital wing," George adds cheerfully.

Harry swallows hard. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Rubbish!" Fred exclaims, clapping Harry on the back. "You'll be fantastic. Just keep your head on a swivel and your eyes peeled for the Snitch."

"And maybe learn a few shield charms," George suggests with a wink.

As the twins saunter off, still trading increasingly outlandish Quidditch tales, Harry turns to his friends.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

Ron grins, skipping another pebble across the fountain's surface. "The chance of a lifetime, mate. You'll see."

Hermione sighs, "Well, if you're set on this, we'll be there cheering you on. Just promise to be careful?"

Harry nods, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. As a cool breeze rustles through the courtyard, carrying the scent of approaching autumn, he can't help but wonder what other surprises Hogwarts has in store for him.

"Well, if it isn't Hogwarts' newest Quidditch star," Marteen Grindelwald says, sauntering towards them with a smirk on his face. "I suppose you should be thanking me, Potter."

Harry turns, "Thanking you? For what exactly?"

Marteen leans against a nearby pillar, exuding casual confidence. "For giving you the chance to show off your flying skills, of course. If I hadn't tossed Longbottom's little trinket, McGonagall might never have noticed your... talent."

Ron bristles, "You've got some nerve—"

But Harry holds up a hand, cutting him off. He studies Marteen for a moment before responding, his tone cautious but not hostile. "That's an interesting way of looking at it, Grindelwald. Though I'm not sure Neville would appreciate your methods."

Marteen shrugs, "Sometimes, Potter, greatness requires a little push. Or in this case, a throw."

"And I suppose you think that justifies bullying?" Hermione said.

"Bullying? Please," Marteen scoffs. "I prefer to think of it as... creating opportunities. Besides, no harm done in the end, right? Longbottom got his bauble back, and Potter here gets to be a Quidditch hero."

Harry, still wary but intrigued by Marteen's less antagonistic demeanor, decides to engage. "And what do you get out of it, Grindelwald?"

Marteen's smirk widens. "The satisfaction of knowing I played a part in shaping Hogwarts history, of course. Plus, it'll be far more interesting to beat Gryffindor with you on the team, Potter. A real challenge."

Ron snorts. "As if Slytherin stands a chance now."

"We'll see about that, Weasley," Marteen replies.

Harry, sensing an opportunity to engage, offers a small smile. "Well, thanks for the... unexpected assist, I guess. But next time, maybe find a way that doesn't involve risking someone else's possessions?"

Marteen chuckles. "I suppose that's fair. I didn't really think about the consequences at the time." He leans back against the pillar, making it clear he's not leaving just yet. "So, Potter, how does it feel to be the youngest Seeker in a century?"

Ron narrows his eyes. "Why are you interested, Grindelwald?"

"It's not every day Hogwarts breaks tradition like this. I'm just trying to understand the fuss about Quidditch." Marteed said.

Harry, still cautious but intrigued by Marteen's less antagonistic demeanor, decides to engage. "It's... overwhelming, to be honest. I barely know anything about Quidditch."

"Ah, right. You were raised by Muggles," Marteen says, his tone matter-of-fact rather than mocking. "Well, Potter, from what I've seen, people here are quite passionate about it. Though I can't say I share the enthusiasm."

Hermione, who's been watching the exchange with a frown, finally speaks up. "You're not interested in Quidditch, Grindelwald?"

Marteen shakes his head. "Not particularly. Sports in general don't appeal to me. I find them rather... mundane."

Harry, surprised by Marteen's candor, asks, "So what does interest you?"

A glint appears in Marteen's eyes. "Dueling, Potter. The thrill of magical combat, the strategy of outmaneuvering your opponent. It's a shame students aren't allowed to duel here. There's so much potential to sharpen our skills."

Ron shifts uncomfortably, but Harry leans in, intrigued despite himself. "What kind of skills?"

"Oh, you know," Marteen says casually, twirling his wand between his fingers. "The best hexes and curses to defeat an opponent quickly and efficiently. That's where the real excitement lies."

Hermione's eyes narrow. "That sounds an awful lot like your grandfather's obsession with magical power, Grindelwald."

"Perhaps. But is it wrong to want to excel in magic, Granger? To push the boundaries of what's possible?" - Marteen said.

Marteen suddenly perks up, as if remembering something. "Oh, Potter, I almost forgot. Come with me, you'll want to thank me again. I know you haven't seen this yet."

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll see. Just follow me."

As Harry moves to follow Marteen, Ron grabs his arm. "Harry, mate, are you sure about this? It could be a trap."

Hermione nods in agreement. "He's right, Harry. We don't know what Grindelwald is up to."

Harry hesitates for a moment, looking between his friends and Marteen. Finally, he shakes his head. "I'll be fine. I want to know what he's on about."

As Harry follows Marteen, Ron and Hermione exchange worried glances before hurrying after them.

Marteen leads them through the castle corridors, finally stopping in front of a large trophy cabinet. He gestures grandly towards it.

"Take a look, Potter. I think you'll find this interesting."

Harry steps forward, his eyes scanning the shelves of gleaming trophies and plaques. Suddenly, his gaze locks onto one particular cup. His breath catches in his throat as he reads the inscription:

"James Potter. Seeker."

Harry's eyes widen in disbelief. He turns to Marteen, who's watching his reaction with a satisfied smile.

"My dad... he was a Seeker too?"

"Seems Quidditch talent runs in the family, Potter. Thought you might want to know."

Ron and Hermione, who have caught up, peer over Harry's shoulder at the trophy.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron whispers. "Your dad was a Seeker too!"

Hermione looks at Marteen, "How did you know about this, Grindelwald?"

Marteen shrugs, his usual air of nonchalance returning. "I actually didn't know until recently. Got detention two days ago, had to clean this cabinet. Saw the Potter name."

Harry turns to Marteen, "Thanks for showing me this. It... it means a lot."

"Don't mention it, Potter. See you around."

With that, Marteen turns and walks away, leaving the three Gryffindors alone by the trophy case.

As Harry continues to stare at his father's trophy, Ron and Hermione exchange worried glances.

"Harry," Hermione begins cautiously, "I know this was a nice gesture, but you need to be careful around Marteen. He's not just any student, he's Gellert Grindelwald's grandson."

Ron nods vigorously. "Yeah, mate. Grindelwald was one of the most dangerous dark wizards in history. More than as You-Know-Who."

Hermione continues, "Gellert Grindelwald was responsible for countless atrocities. He believed in wizard supremacy and wanted to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy. He caused so much pain and suffering..."

But Harry's mind is elsewhere. He's thinking about the unexpected kindness Marteen just showed him, sharing this connection to his father.

"I don't know. I mean, I hear what you're saying, but Marteen's not his grandfather. And this..." he gestures to the trophy, "This was actually pretty decent of him."

Ron and Hermione share another concerned look.

"Harry," Ron says, "Just because he did one nice thing doesn't mean he's not dangerous. His family—"

"I know about his family," Harry interrupts, "But maybe... maybe Marteen's different. We shouldn't judge him just because of who his grandfather was, should we?"

"I understand how you feel, Harry. But please, just promise us you'll be careful. We don't know what Marteen's really like or what he's capable of." Hermione said.

Harry nods, but his eyes are drawn back to his father's trophy. For the moment, his gratitude towards Marteen outweighs his friends' warnings. He can't help but feel that there might be more to Marteen Grindelwald than meets the eye, and he's curious to find out what that might be.

As they leave the trophy room, Ron and Hermione continue to cast worried glances at Harry, their concern growing as they realize that this small act of kindness from Marteen might have opened a door they're not sure should be opened.