HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Life went on uneventfully. Severus remained taciturn, but when he walked by, he no longer deliberately stretched out his foot or "accidentally" bumped into her shoulder.

Ian attributed this to a "stage victory." "See, sometimes fists work better than reason," he said to Severus, who was checking the rue leaves, as he loosened the soil around the increasingly robust bougainvillea on the windowsill. "At least for some people."

Severus gently brushed a tender leaf with his fingertips to check for pests, and upon hearing this, he simply gave a soft "hmm" in response.

The House of Requirement became their more frequent destination; it was not just a refuge, but more like a secret fortress that was gradually being filled in.

Kevin practiced the spells relentlessly, occasionally producing some insignificant little sparks that drew theoretical corrections from Aris and ridicule from Ian.

Severus used the potion station more and more frequently. The materials provided by Ian and the several pots of thriving herbs gave him the confidence to try some minor improvements to the recipe.

As Aris filled the bookshelves with more and more books, he would sometimes whisper with Severus about the interpretation of some obscure spell or the principles of potions. Although he did most of the time he was talking and Severus was listening, occasionally giving brief responses, the atmosphere was focused and peaceful.

In mid-November, the castle was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming Quidditch season.

In the hallway, the students' conversations invariably revolved around the team, training, and predictions of wins and losses.

The upcoming weekend will be the season opener between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Kevin couldn't sit still starting Thursday, constantly analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of both teams.

Ian was far less interested in Quidditch than in herbs and spells, but he couldn't resist Kevin's persistent pleading.

"Just come with me!" Kevin clasped his hands together, his brown curly hair swaying with his exaggerated movements. "This is a school honor! Besides, we might see Potter make a fool of himself. I heard he got a special admission to the Gryffindor team, and he's practically strutting around like a madman, showing off his broom in the yard every day."

Severus's reaction to Quidditch was to simply ignore it.

He prefers to spend his weekend mornings at the Requirement House, processing a batch of freshly harvested sleep beans that require careful cutting.

Aris said he would go to the library to find some information about the relationship between ancient runes and the flow of magic, and commented on the sport of "chasing a small metal ball in the air" as "a high-intensity and meaningless physical exertion with risks and rewards that are disproportionate to the risks."

So on Saturday morning, Ian was dragged to the Quidditch pitch by Kevin.

The weather was gloomy and cold, with leaden clouds hanging low, but the stands were already packed with people. Red and green flags fluttered in the stands, and shouts and cheers were deafening.

They squeezed onto one side of the Slytherin stands, and Kevin somehow produced two silver and green scarves, shoving one into Ian's hand.

Ian approached perfunctorily, his gaze sweeping across the field. The players warmed up by circling in the air on broomsticks, like a flock of brightly colored birds.

"Look! It's Potter!" Kevin suddenly nudged Ian with his elbow, his voice filled with undisguised disgust.

Ian looked in the direction he pointed and saw James Potter wearing a scarlet Gryffindor uniform, riding a rather brand-new broom, hovering low near the entrance to the players' tunnel, doing fancy flips, which drew cheers from several Gryffindor students nearby.

He seemed to notice the gaze from the Slytherin stands, and actually adjusted his direction, flying closer to them and hovering in mid-air not far away.

"Hey! Look who's here?" James's voice was exceptionally clear in the cold wind, carrying his usual unpleasant smugness. "Even the reptiles in the cellar are out sunbathing? Too bad the sun's not keen on showing its face today. Doesn't that suit your dark tastes perfectly?"

Kevin was about to jump up and retort when Ian grabbed his arm.

Ian looked up, his face expressionless, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather: "Let's see how the flies buzz in the air, and while we're at it, see if all some people have left besides being good at riding brooms is a mouth that never stops. Potter, are you flying so low because you're afraid that when the competition starts, the wind will be too strong and blow your already meager brain through?"

Several Slytherin students nearby who overheard this chuckled softly.

James's face flushed red, but he immediately raised his chin and said in a deliberately louder voice, loud enough to be heard throughout half the stands, "You'll find out who the fly is in a minute!"

He patted his brand-new jersey on his chest, his chin held even higher, the broom bobbing up and down with his movements. "Next year, no, maybe this year, I'll finally be able to officially play, smashing the Runners in your faces! Stuffing the Quaffles into your nets one by one! Just you wait, you Slytherin idiots!"

Kevin couldn't hold back this time. He jumped up, pointed at James, and said, "He's just a substitute! Who knows who'll be throwing the ball at whom next year! Let me tell you, Porter, next year, I, Kevin Walker, will definitely be on the Slytherin team! See you on the field then, and I'll knock you off your broom!"

James burst into laughter as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world. "You? Walker?" He laughed so hard he could barely breathe.

"With your flying skills, you'd be lucky to even sit steadily on a broomstick without wetting yourself! You want to join the Slytherin Flying Team? Dream on! Is Slytherin out of ideas?"

"The competition is about to begin! Non-participants, please leave the competition area!" Madam Hooch's loud voice was amplified by magic, resounding throughout the entire arena and temporarily interrupting the standoff that had been taking place in the air.

James gave Ian and Kevin a final, rude gesture, then pulled his broom and flew back to the Gryffindor team.

"I'm so angry!" Kevin plopped back down on the cold wooden bench, his chest still heaving. "I'm determined to make the team! I'll teach them a lesson next year!"

Ian patted him on the shoulder. "Then practice hard. But before that," he turned to the field, where the whistle had blown and fifteen brooms shot into the air at once, "let's see how 'good' they are today."

The match was intense and closely contested.

Slytherin took the lead at one point thanks to their experienced tactics and somewhat rough style, but the Gryffindor Chaser attacked fiercely and coordinated well, especially their captain, whose several accurate throws drew cheers from the stands.

James, as a substitute, did not play, but he sat on the bench. Whenever Gryffindor scored, he would jump up, wave his fist, and shout louder than anyone else. He would also occasionally give a provocative look towards the Slytherin stands.

In the end, Gryffindor's Seeker caught the Golden Snitch by a narrow margin, securing the victory for Gryffindor.

The red stands erupted in cheers, which nearly lifted the stadium roof off.

The Slytherins left with gloomy faces.

On the way back, Kevin was still indignant, repeatedly muttering, "I'll definitely teach them a lesson next year."

Ian's thoughts had already drifted away; he was wondering how Severus's batch of sleep beans was going, and whether he had used the new silver knife he had bought last time.

As the Quidditch craze subsided after the games ended, the castle's decorations were gradually replaced by a Christmas atmosphere.

The corridor was adorned with ribbons of holly and mistletoe, and the helmets of the armored soldiers were carefully adorned with bells and ribbons by house-elves. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of roasted gingerbread and mulled wine.