Chapter 31: My Second is Edward 

Noticing Harry's gaze, Edward walked over with a smile. 

"That was some brilliant save, Harry. You've got real talent for Quidditch." 

Relieved to see Edward was okay, Harry's face lit up with a bright grin. "Sorry, mate, you could've caught that Remembrall if my broom hadn't refused to turn—" he said, guilt creeping into his voice. 

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm fine," Edward reassured him, rolling his neck and shoulders to show he was unharmed. But then his tone shifted. "Actually, I think you should think twice before acting next time." 

He pointed to Malfoy in the distance, pale and shaky, being helped up by Crabbe and Goyle, his legs trembling. 

"Oh, you mean Malfoy? He had it coming! Who told him to snatch Neville's Remembrall?" Harry shot Malfoy a fierce glare. 

"But he didn't deserve that, did he? I know you didn't mean it, but knocking someone off a broom from dozens of feet up isn't exactly a great way to punish them, is it? If he'd been seriously hurt—or worse, killed—it wouldn't be this simple." 

Edward held Harry's gaze, and Harry looked a bit sheepish. Sometimes, Harry felt Edward was more like a teacher than a classmate, but he had to admit Edward was right. In the Muggle world, a fall like that could've been fatal. Even an annoying, arrogant prankster like Malfoy didn't deserve that. 

Harry hadn't even considered that he could've been expelled for it. He didn't know much about Malfoy's family background and had just been blinded by anger. 

His bright smile faltered, caught between guilt and lingering fear. 

A shout snapped him back to reality. 

"Harry Potter!" 

"Edward Bedivere!" 

Professor McGonagall was charging across the lawn toward them. After witnessing Edward's sprinting speed earlier, Harry thought her brisk jog looked like a leisurely stroll. 

The cheering Gryffindors fell silent, while Slytherin ears perked up. They all sensed someone was in trouble. 

"Potter, how dare you! You could've broken your neck!" McGonagall's voice quivered with anger as she stood before the students. 

"Professor, it wasn't Harry's fault—" 

"Quiet, Miss Patil." 

"It was Malfoy—" 

"Not now, Mr. Weasley." 

The Gryffindors clammed up. 

"And you, Mr. Bedivere," McGonagall turned to Edward, "if I didn't know Apparition was forbidden in the castle, I'd think you were some prodigy! You hit that wall so hard my entire office shook!" 

Edward realized then that the wall he'd crashed into was behind her office. He quickly apologized, though the impact had let him test his physical strength. The wall didn't budge, but neither did he. Aside from a slightly sore elbow from bracing himself, he was unscathed. 

If he mastered the second tier of the Knight's Breathing Technique—or higher—could he smash through the castle's thick walls? His thoughts drifted to Sir Gawain, one of the Round Table Knights famed for his physical prowess. 

"Mr. Potter, come with me. The rest of you, stay here until Madam Hooch returns, and I don't want to see another broom in the air!" McGonagall marched off with a dejected Harry in tow, leaving the other students exchanging awkward glances on the field. 

Soon, Madam Hooch returned from the hospital wing, gave a brief lecture, and ended the eventful Flying Lesson. 

Later, in the Great Hall, an unexpected figure slid into the seat next to Edward. 

"I bet Potter's getting expelled this time. He nearly killed me! What do you think, Bedivere?" Malfoy said, a hint of glee in his voice. 

Edward was a bit surprised but could tell Malfoy wasn't here to start trouble this time. "I think you're going to be disappointed again, Malfoy," he replied, shaking his head. "McGonagall's tone didn't sound like she was planning to expel Harry." 

"Disappointed? Just wait!" Malfoy tilted his chin up, confident Harry was done for. 

Then, his voice faltered, turning hesitant. "Bedivere, back in class, when I fell off my broom, you—" His pale face flushed slightly. Expressing gratitude clearly wasn't his strong suit. 

Sure, Edward was friendly with those annoying Potter and Weasley kids. Sure, they'd clashed plenty of times. Sure, Edward's views and actions often irritated him. But the fact was, Edward had helped him multiple times without holding grudges, even saving his life just now. Malfoy had been bracing to be carted off to the hospital wing, wondering if he'd even get the chance to yell, "My father will hear about this!" 

His father had always taught him to seize every opportunity, to be flexible, to think strategically. Malfoy had already botched his attempt to win over Harry, but now he had a chance to build something with Edward. He couldn't mess this up. As for his attitude toward Muggles or Muggle-borns, that could wait—Bedivere's bloodline was pure enough, after all. 

But saying "thank you"? Malfoy had no idea how to get the words out. 

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged confused looks, baffled by Draco's sudden stammering. Across the table, Daphne, Pansy, and the other Slytherins had to think of their saddest memories to keep their lips from curling up in amusement. Malfoy's embarrassment was hilarious. 

Finally, Edward, barely containing his own smile, cut in to spare him. "No need to thank me, Malfoy. I wasn't about to let you get carried to the hospital wing over something like that. We're classmates, aren't we?" 

Malfoy let out a relieved breath, grateful he hadn't botched this too. "You saved my life, so let's call it even for all the stuff before!" he said, a weight lifting off him. 

For the first time in his eleven years, Malfoy felt a kind of joy he couldn't quite describe—something genuine. His parents' affection and indulgence made him happy, but this was different. 

That joy, however, was short-lived. Harry and Ron appeared at the end of the Gryffindor table, laughing and chatting. Malfoy's face darkened as he stormed over. Getting on better terms with Edward didn't mean he was okay with Harry—especially seeing him still at Hogwarts. 

"Enjoying your last meal, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. 

"You didn't look so smug when I knocked you off your broom," Harry shot back coolly. 

Malfoy's expression grew even darker. "I'm ready to take you on anytime," he said, narrowing his eyes. "How about tonight? A wizard's duel. I bet you've never even heard of one." 

"Oh, he knows," Ron jumped in. "I'm his second. Who's yours?" 

Malfoy glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, clearly unimpressed with his options. Then his eyes caught a glimpse of the brown-haired figure at the Slytherin table, and they lit up. 

"My second is Edward!"