Excitement buzzed through the halls of Hogwarts in the following week as more news about the inter-school Quidditch tournament, mentioned during the opening ceremony, began to spread across the school.

  Inside every common room, eager discussions about the upcoming trials filled the air. Students speculated about who would make the Hogwarts team, and the hype grew even stronger when they learned that the tournament would be watched by people from all over Europe.

  Every young witch or wizard who could fly a broom was tempted to try out, hoping for a chance to make the final team. Even the first-years were eager to prove themselves. There were no restrictions on who could participate, as the notice on the official board clearly stated that anyone was welcome to join the trials. After all, what young child wouldn't want a shot at fame?

  Time flew by, and before anyone knew it, the next weekend arrived.

  Saturday mornings were usually quiet during breakfast in the Great Hall, as there were no classes. But today, the hall buzzed with infectious energy, as students chatted excitedly about the big event to be held right after breakfast.

  The trials were set to begin at half past nine, so by nine o'clock, the Great Hall had mostly emptied as eager participants and spectators alike made their way to the open grass field outside the castle.

  The prefects took charge, organizing the students by their houses, and before long, nearly a third of the large lawn beside the school was filled. However, contrary to what they remembered about the grassy area, it was no longer just an open stretch of green.

  They looked up and saw numerous glowing hoops scattered across the field. Each hoop was marked with a number and emitted a faint green light. Some hoops hovered few meters above the ground, while others floated high in the air.

  It was only last evening that Maverick, along with Professor McGonagall, created the trial course based on Steven's design, and for them—being elites in the art of Transfiguration—bringing his vision to life was no trouble at all.

  "Are we supposed to ride broomsticks and fly through these hoops?" one student asked, looking up while tugging at his friend beside him.

  "The hoops are numbered, and look—hoop number seven is only a meter above the ground. If you're not careful when coming down from hoop six, you might crash!" another student added, pointing out his observation.

  "Wait, there are even harder ones! After flying through hoop 11, you have to turn left immediately, or you'll miss hoop number 12!" a third student exclaimed.

  While the students discussed and debated the best way to navigate the course, Maverick and his team of teachers also arrived at the area. He and Steven were tasked with overseeing the students' talents, while McGonagall and Hooch were there to observe as school leaders. Madam Pomfrey was also present, needless to say, ready to assist in case of any accidents that might occur.

  "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Maverick couldn't help but chuckle as he glanced at the large crowd of students now looking their way, clearly talking about them.

  Steven scanned the crowd and smiled. "They've got good energy. I'm sure there's talent here, given the numbers."

  "Please keep things under control, both of you," Pomfrey muttered, eyeing Maverick sternly. "don't make things too dangerous for the children even if you and Minerva are sure to prevent any accidents... Just last week, I had one brought to the infirmary after a flying lesson."

  At her comment, McGonagall remembered the accident and asked. "How is Mr. Longbottom now?"

  "He's been discharged, but I'm worried something similar might happen again, especially with this many students," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice tinged with concern.

  "We'll keep our senses alert, Poppy. Besides, we have Mr. Steven here and Professor Caesar as well, who is apparently even more skilled at flying. They'll be ready to take action at any time," McGonagall said in hopes of reassuring the worried-looking healer.

  "That reminds me," Maverick added, tilting his head. "I heard Mr. Potter showed some impressive flying skills for his first time."

  McGonagall sighed, shaking her head. She gestured toward the crowd. "He's over there, along with some of my other young lions. I suspected his friend would drag him here, but I wasn't expecting half of Gryffindor's first-years to show up."

  Maverick chuckled. "Well, good for you, Professor. At least Gryffindor has a bigger talent pool." He then turned to Pomfrey. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey. We'll make sure the students stay safe." He glanced at Steven, who gave a firm nod.

  "We'll do our best," Steven assured.

  When the students' chatter quieted into hushed murmurs and finally stopped, Maverick took the lead, stepping forward, amplifying his voice and he began to address the crowd.

  "Good morning, everyone... before we begin, I want to remind you all of something very important," he said, his voice carrying across the field.

  He looked at the crowd of expectant faces focused on him, his expression turning serious as he continued, "The purpose of this trial is not only about selecting the best among you at Quidditch for the school... it is more about setting aside your house rivalries and choosing a group that will represent Hogwarts as one team."

  "The team will include students from all four houses, regardless of your status or your blood. So, I want you to leave aside any house conflicts or other disagreements you may have and think of yourselves as one group, representing one school.

  Because during the tournament, the eyes of all wizarding Europe will be upon you, and they will see you only as students of Hogwarts—not as Gryffindors, Slytherins, or any other house. Just Hogwarts. The team chosen from among you will carry the weight of our school's reputation."

  "So, I want you to take this seriously. Remember, this isn't just a game—well, it is, but you know what I mean."

  A few students chuckled, but most nodded solemnly understanding the meaning behind the words.

  "Now, let's talk about how today will go," Maverick continued. "First, I'd like to introduce someone who needs no introduction... though I'll give him one anyway. This is Mario Steven, three-time Quidditch World Champion and your new coach for the Hogwarts All-Star team."

  The students erupted into applause and cheers, while Steven raised a hand in acknowledgment and flashed a smile at the crowd.

  Maverick continued, giving a moment for the excitement to settle. "Today, we'll be testing three key areas... flying skills, reflexes, and endurance. These are the foundations of any great Quidditch player, and we'll be putting you through your paces to see who's got what it takes."

  "Only fourteen of you will make the team. Two Keepers, six Chasers, four Beaters, and two Seekers. Seven starters and seven bench players, as per international rules. We won't be discriminating based on age, house, or anything else. The best will make the team, plain and simple."

  The students exchanged glances, some looking nervous, others determined.

  "Today, we'll focus on endurance and flying skills... and by the end of the day, 28 of you will be selected... four for each position."

  "Next weekend, we'll hold mock matches, where we'll randomly split the 28 players into four teams. Coach Steven, Professor McGonagall, and I will observe closely. Every move, every decision, every bit of effort you put in will count, and then we'll select the best 14 out of you."

  He finished the explanation, leaving the rest to be addressed next week for the selected players, and then focused on his storage ring. He pulled out a dozen or so flying brooms, handing one each to Steven, Hooch, and McGonagall, and placed the rest neatly arranged in front of him.

  Glancing back at the sea of eager students ready to begin, he offered a reassuring smile to ease the tension. "Now, before we get started, let me explain the conditions to pass the trial."

  He gestured to the rings hovering above the ground. "I'm sure many of you have already guessed the purpose of the numbered hoops in the sky, but let me explain anyway."

  "Your objective is to start from the ring numbered one and fly through each ring in order, all the way to ring number 30, without skipping a number or hitting the hoop walls."

  "Don't worry about getting injured if you hit a ring... they're made of transfigured magical mist, and they'll only change color to red if you make contact while passing through."

  "Even if you hit a ring, just move on to the next one and try to finish in the shortest time possible."

  "We teachers will observe your flying skills, how quickly you can finish, and how many rings you can pass through neatly without touching the hoop walls."

  He paused and glanced at the prefects, who were standing at the front of each house group. "Prefects, please send one student from each house when I give the signal, starting from the left—Slytherin house first."

  Looking back at his colleagues, he gave them all a final nod and signaled for Gemma Farley to send the first student forward.

  —————————

  "Mr. Flint, I'm surprised you've chosen to go first... are you ready?" Maverick asked, raising an eyebrow as the Slytherin Quidditch team captain stepped forward.

  The boy nodded confidently. "The position of the school team's Chaser will be mine, Professor. I'll show everyone why we've won the last consecutive school cups,"

  Maverick chuckled softly. He didn't mind the boldness—if anything, he appreciated the confidence. Starting the trial with a demonstration from a seasoned player like Flint seemed like a good thing anyway.

  "Good luck," Maverick said with a smile, stepping aside to let Flint prepare.

  Meanwhile, the students whispered among themselves, discussing Flint's decision to go first. Their thoughts mirrored Maverick's in some ways, though with a touch of skepticism.

  "Tsk. This guy's a real idiot, volunteering to go first," one student muttered under their breath. "Doesn't he know that the later you go, the more advantages you'll have? You can observe and learn from others' mistakes."

  Another student shrugged, looking uneasy. "I don't know... I feel like the more I watch, the more nervous I'll get,"

  A third student chimed in, crossing their arms. "Yeah, but going first also means you set the standard. If Flint nails it, the rest of us will have to work twice as hard to impress the professors."

  Another voice piped up from the back, sounding defensive. "Or maybe he's just confident. Not everyone needs to overthink everything... Sometimes it's better to just go for it."

  A Gryffindor nearby smirked and added, "Confident or not, I'm not letting a Slytherin show us up. If Flint can do it, so can I."

  "It's all about strategy." A Ravenclaw added after thinking thoughtfully. "Watch the angles of the hoops and plan your turns in advance. That's the key."

  The chatter continued, a mix of nerves, confidence, and competitive spirit filling the air, until Professor Caesar's magically amplified voice rang out for everyone to hear.

  "The trial has officially begun. The first contestant is Mr. Marcus Flint from Slytherin house."

  Cheers erupted, mostly from the group of Slytherins, as Flint mounted his broom, gripping it tightly and ready to take off.

  "Ready, set... go!"

  Flint kicked the ground and shot forward like a rocket, his eyes locked on the hoop numbered one. He passed through it flawlessly, his movements sharp and precise, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd of students.

  Maverick raised a brow as he watched Flint's takeoff and the skill he displayed. He turned his head slightly and noticed that even Steven standing beside him looked impressed by the precision and control Flint had over the broom.

  "He's worthy of being the Slytherin team captain..."

  Steven nodded in agreement. "Pretty good… but there's room for improvement," he added thoughtfully after a moment before jotting down a few notes.

  When the Slytherin Seeker zigzagged through the air and neared the 15th ring, Maverick turned his attention back to the crowd and gestured to the prefects to send the next student.

  This time, it was the Gryffindors' turn to step forward, and before long, a familiar face made his way to the starting point.

  "Get him, Oliver!"

  "Don't lose to Flint!"

  The little witches and wizards of Gryffindor house cheered as Oliver Wood walked up and stopped in front of Maverick and Steven.

  "Not bad," Maverick commented, fixing his eyes on the captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, who exuded the same confidence as Flint had before him. Both were captains of their house's team, and it was clear that neither was willing to let the other hog all the spotlight.

  "Flint will probably take the Chaser's position, so it's up to you to show whether you've got what it takes to secure the Keeper's spot," he added, offering a few words of encouragement as he handed the boy one of the neatly arranged brooms. "Get ready. When I say 'go,' you can take off."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Moments later, just as Marcus Flint passed through the 20th hoop, Maverick gave the signal, and Oliver Wood took off toward the first ring.

  "Wow!"

  "Go, Oliver!"

  The Gryffindors shouted their support, their cheers just as loud and enthusiastic as those coming from the Slytherins beside them.

  And among their group, Ronald Weasley was practically bouncing with excitement, pointing at the sky with a fanatic look on his face.

  "Just look at Oliver, Harry... his flying is as skilled as that slimy snake's... no, he's even faster—he's already passed the fifth ring!"

  Harry nodded with a hum, but his expression was more anxious than the frantic excitement radiating from his friend. He couldn't help but feel the pressure as he watched the two seniors display their impressive skills, all while remembering the mission he had come here to accomplish.

  Just yesterday, he had been taken to the office of his head of house, Professor McGonagall, along with Oliver Wood, and was offered a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their Seeker.

  It had all happened so suddenly—after the little accident during his first week, then being invited to join the practice, and finally being offered an official spot on the team.

  After thinking about everything, Harry realized he had a natural talent for the sport and for flying in general. Unlike his studies, where he often felt like he was playing catch-up with everyone else—having come to Hogwarts without any prior knowledge of the wizarding world—Quidditch had given him a sense of confidence like nothing before.

  For the first time, he felt like he had something he was genuinely good at. And now, he wasn't satisfied with just being his house's Seeker. He wanted more. He wanted to be the school team's Seeker, or at least secure the reserve position, and was determined to make it happen by showing his skills today.

  Well, that was until he saw Flint and Oliver fly at their best. Watching their precision, speed, and control, he finally realized the level of competition he was up against.

  ...

  Meanwhile.

  "Look! Number 22 turned red... wait, it's green again!" The comment came just as Flint passed through the 22nd hoop.

  The Slytherins looked worried watching the scene and started speculating about what may happen next.

  "Does that mean he failed? He must have touched the wall of the ring, right? That's why it turned red for a moment..."

  "No," another student replied quickly. "The professor said to keep going even if you hit a ring or miss one. His score might be lowered, but it's not a fail."

  As the students debated his performance, Flint, up in the air, didn't seem to notice that he had brushed against the ring.

  Whoosh!

  His focus remained sharp on the course ahead, nearing the finish line, determined to set a record that no student today can beat.

  With a graceful dive through the 29th ring, he took a sharp turn to the right and smoothly passed through the final one.

  Roar!

  He heard the loud cheers erupt from below and slowed down before coming to a stop, finally glancing down. His housemates were all clapping and shouting his name, and even some students from other houses joined in.

  His eyes then landed on another figure who had started while he was halfway through the trial. He couldn't help but raise a brow at the impressive maneuvering he was witnessing.

  Oliver controlled his broom with ease, turning left, right, up, and down as if he were walking, weaving effortlessly through ring after ring. He was already halfway through the course, and it was clear that this rival of his would very likely become the school team's Keeper—his future teammate.

  "Flint, you can come down now. Fly around the rings instead of going through them and land next to us."

  He suddenly heard a voice in his ear—the voice of Professor Caesar. Looking down, he saw the man nodding at him and figured the professor had used some kind of voice transmission magic he wasn't familiar with.

  On the ground, Steven made some notes before glancing at Maverick, who also turned to him.

  "That was good, honestly. I'd be surprised if we see anyone better—but we'll see. For now, this boy, Flint, would be my pick for Chaser's position."

  Maverick smiled. "He is the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team, after all. But who knows? There may be some surprises," he said, glancing toward the Gryffindor group. His eyes landed on a figure watching Oliver, still in the air, with a solemn expression.

  "Let's move on..."

  There was already a Ravenclaw wizard in position, and Maverick gave the signal for him to start.

  Time moved on, and under the enthusiastic atmosphere of the trials, three hours passed in the blink of an eye.

  Over a hundred students had been tested so far without any accidents, but there were still about twice that number waiting for their turn. Fortunately, this was a two-day event, and he was confident he'd be able to test each and every student by the end of tomorrow.

  For today, there was still time, as the trials would continue after lunch.

  "Go and take a rest, Mr. Finnigan. You did well."

  Maverick turned to see McGonagall comforting a first-year student who had just finished his round. The boy looked dejected, clearly unhappy with his own performance.

  He nodded reluctantly and ran toward the group of Gryffindors, while the next in line stepped forward and stood before them.

  "Professor, I'm ready."

  The red-haired boy gave his affirmation, and McGonagall took the lead, handing him a broom. Meanwhile, Maverick's attention was on the three figures who had yet to finish their round. Apart from grading their flying skills, his main focus was ensuring that no students had any accidents. He didn't relax his vigilance for a moment, carefully observing every witch and wizard during their flight.

  "Remember to be careful and don't try to fly faster than you can control..." McGonagall advised.

  She then looked at Maverick, waiting for his signal. A few moments later, he retracted his gaze from the sky and gave her a small gesture, telling her she could let him start.

  The Weasley twin—whom Maverick wasn't entirely sure which one—mounted the broom and got into position. Maverick watched with a hint of anticipation in his heart, wanting to see his skills, after all, they were key characters in the books, and they were said to be exceptionally good at flying.

  So far, not many names he was familiar with had taken their turn. Among the crowd, he could spot Harry, Ron, Cedric Diggory, Angelina, Roger Davies, and many others who hadn't yet tested their skills. He was looking forward to seeing how each of them would perform and whether they might surprise him.

  —————————

  Whoosh!

  A small figure sliced through the air like an arrow, shooting straight up through the seventeenth obstacle before making a sharp right turn without much change in speed.

  His grip was tight on the broom handle, his body leaning forward, and his eyes focused like an eagle locking onto the next target. The eighteenth hoop was just ahead, and he leaned forward even more before accelerating toward it.

  His mind was so fixed on the task that not even the roar of the crowd below, chanting his name like a riot, caused the slightest reaction to distract him from achieving his goal.

  The trials had been going on for over half a day, with the sun already past its peak. During all this time, he had watched his friends and seniors take the test before him, never participating himself—just observing every twist and turn, every little trick they used to navigate through the trial, and noting down every technique he could use to make his turn count and succeed.

  Even though he hadn't had the chance to practice the things he had observed and taken into account, he had played them out in his mind countless times.

  Morover, he was confident he could pass all thirty obstacles if he played it safe and flew cautiously. But that wasn't enough, because taking it easy simply wasn't an option. The competition was fierce, and only four people would be selected for the Seeker position he was aiming for.

  Wow!

  Amazing!

  Harry!

  Harry!

  The voices were full of praise, even a little hysterical, filling the air. The atmosphere at the scene had reached its peak, with Gryffindor's cheers louder than anyone else's, echoing everywhere. With every turn Harry took, the crowd grew more and more excited.

  This was genuine appreciation for talent, because no one had expected him, a first-year—someone supposedly with zero flying experience before coming to Hogwarts just two weeks ago—to fly as impressively as the seasoned players from the senior grades.

  To top it all off, this was Harry Potter, the savior, the Boy Who Lived. Seeing him display such remarkable skills captured everyone's attention, even from the rival houses, more than any other contestant had before him.

  Maverick had even halted the contestants scheduled after Harry from flying until he finished, simply because of the way Harry had taken off too fast for the boy's level. The last thing he wanted was to put the savior in danger, and he wanted to be fully concentrated during his entire run.

  And true to his thoughts, Harry flew fast, nearly pushing the limits of the broom he'd been given, but surprisingly controlled, with the finesse of experienced players like Flint and Oliver. It wasn't quite at their level, but it was definitely better than most, even surpassing the Weasley twins, who had finished the trials earlier.

  The twins, who presumably had the chance to practice flying all the time at home and had been flying since they were children, didn't even come close to the skill Harry was displaying at this moment.

  "This kid is eleven years old?"

  Watching the impressive maneuvers, the veteran Quidditch legend was also taken aback and couldn't help but voice his doubt.

  Standing beside him, Maverick smiled and shrugged before glancing at McGonagall to respond.

  "Yes. Mr. Potter is a first-year." Sensing the gaze and hearing Steven's comment, she spoke clearly, addressing everything. "In fact, he's never flown a broom in his life until a week ago. Perhaps three or four days of practice in the last two weeks, but that's all."

  Steven turned his head sharply before asking again, "You mean the kid has never flown in his entire life up until a few days ago...?" It was clear he was finding it hard to believe. After all, this kind of talent was nothing short of monstrous—he himself couldn't claim to be that good at that age.

  "It should be true," Maverick chimed in, adding more details. "To be honest, the boy should be new to everything magical until recently. This is..." He paused, then added with a smile, "This is just raw talent. Worthy of being the Chosen One..."

  "The Chosen what?" Steven asked, confused, tilting his head. He then saw McGonagall raise a brow at his friend and remark, "I didn't take you for one to believe in such things, Professor Caesar..."

  Maverick shrugged, smiling amusedly as he saw them all growing serious. "You have to admit, he's exceptionally gifted. I don't care much about prophecies, but he's definitely got the talent to rival that maniac Riddle—"

  Cough. "Professor, anyways, please concentrate... Potter's about to reach the last five rings," McGonagall quickly steered the conversation away from the taboo subject.

  Madam Hooch and Healer Pomfrey adopted thoughtful expressions listening to the conversation. But they knew better than to talk more about it, especially after seeing their deputy dean's knowing look.

  As for Steven, he seemed even more confused now, but he knew how to read the room and when to press further—or not.

  At this time, Harry had just passed through the 27th hoop, which was positioned the highest from the ground. The 28th hoop was to the left, and Harry made a sharp turn immediately after passing through, using his body's weight while gripping the broom even more tightly to avoid being thrown off by the momentum.

  You must know that the entire trial, from start to finish, took over ten minutes, even for Flint, who finished the fastest. All that time, gripping tightly without giving your hands a break could strain them to the point where it would start to feel like a burn. And Harry Potter was not a physically fit boy, so for him to keep going nonstop like that could only be attributed to the boy's sheer willpower.

  The cheers from the young wizards did not stop; instead, they grew louder and louder. Up until now, apart from Flint, only Harry had managed to pass with the fewest hoops turning red.

  Ronald Weasley, Harry's best friend, had already started to lose his voice from all the shouting and cheering. It was clear he was genuinely rooting for him.

  His own trial, however, had been a disaster—one of the few who had fallen off their broom after trying to bite off more than he could chew by attempting sharp turns like the senior students.

  Fortunately, Maverick, Steven, and McGonagall had acted quickly. Those who lost their grip on their broom were either caught mid-air by Steven or safely lowered to the ground with a Levitation Charm by McGonagall and Maverick, preventing any accidents.

  Just then, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

  At this moment, Harry was seated on his broom, the whistling wind rushing past his ears as he moved at high speed, but his expression was anything but good.

  He had just passed the 29th hoop and made a sharp dive toward the 30th, which was positioned ten meters below. But the fatigue in his arms and body had long reached its limit. The decisive downward turn, combined with his forward momentum, nearly sent him tumbling off the broom, but at the last moment, he managed to grip the handle tightly and continue his descent.

  His vision was already beginning to blur, and his arms felt like they were on fire, but he refused to give up. Just one last hoop to pass through—one last push before he could bring the broom to a stop and finally rest.

  His determination remained unshaken despite his body's protests. With sheer willpower, he made it through the final hoop. But just as he was about to slow his rapid descent, his body finally reached its breaking point—his vision went black.

  Gasp!

  The students' shouts erupted, many screaming in fright.

  To pass through the last hoop, one had to dive straight toward the ground. Though Harry had successfully passed with a green light, he had lost his grip on the broom and was now plummeting, his descent accelerated by the momentum of his earlier dive.

  There were about fifty meters between the final hoop and the ground. At that height, gravity would bring him down in mere seconds, making the panic coming from the crowd completely justified. Even Professor McGonagall looked visibly scared and had already drawn her wand and pointed it toward Harry.

  Steven, on the other hand, knew that the distance was too great and the fall too fast for him to reach in time. Still, he immediately buckled down on his broom, ready to take off in a desperate attempt.

  "Potter is falling too fast!"

  "Help... Professors, help!"

  Amidst the panicked screams and rushed movements, a sudden, deafening Boom! shook the ground.

  Maverick had vanished from his spot, leaving behind a small crater where he once stood. A powerful gust of wind, mixed with dust and debris, scattered outward, making his colleagues who stood beside him stumble.

  In the blink of an eye, he was already rocketing toward Harry like a human missile.

  Just as Harry was about five meters from the ground, Maverick reached him, catching the boy while carefully slowing his momentum to avoid injury from the impact.

  With Harry in his grasp, Maverick gradually came to a halt, hovering mid-air. He immediately cast a diagnostic spell, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious boy.

  Fortunately, he detected nothing serious—only extreme exhaustion and no serious injuries.

  Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he conjured a ball of water in mid-air, allowing it to fall over both of them, cooling Harry's overheated body. With the boy still in his arms, held in a secure carry, he hovered for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips as Harry's eyes began to slowly open.

  Still floating, Maverick willed a construct of pure magic beneath his feet, forming a stable platform. He gently placed Harry onto it, then guided the floating platform toward where his group stood, heading to show him to Madam Pomfrey.

  Maverick himself was an accomplished healer—arguably even better than Pomfrey when it came to diagnostic and healing spells. However, since the others were unaware of this, it was better to let Pomfrey conduct her own examination to reassure them rather than him stating that Harry would recover after a good rest.

  "Professor... what just happened..." Harry mumbled, barely able to open his eyes, in a weak, almost inaudible voice.

  Maverick let out a small sigh. "That was a dangerous move, Mr. Potter. You should've watched your stamina and not pushed your body beyond its limit. Luckily for you, you nearly managed to survive crashing into the ground at high speed... breaking every bone in your body...."

  "W-what..."

  His words didn't even register with the already exhausted boy, so Maverick decided not to lecture him himself and instead left that task to McGonagall and Pomfrey later.

  As the construct carrying both of them began to move, thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, directed at both of them while chanting Harry's name even louder than before.

  Harry!

  Harry!

  Harry!

  As soon as Maverick landed, Madam Pomfrey rushed to Harry's side, crouching beside him as she pulled out her wand.

  With a decisive flick of her wand, the experienced healer cast a diagnostic spell under the worried gazes of McGonagall and the others, and carefully examined the boy's condition before sighing in relief a few seconds later.

  She then cast Maverick an appreciative glance before speaking thoughtfully, "Good work, Professor Caesar. The water helped stabilize his heartbeat and lower his rising temperature."

  Turning to Harry, she had half a mind to reprimand him for his recklessness. But seeing his half-lidded eyes, barely holding onto consciousness, she swallowed her words. There would be time for scolding later.

  She turned back to Maverick, then glanced at McGonagall before stating, "I'll take him to the hospital wing. He needs energy replenishment and proper rest."

  McGonagall's expression was still tense as she asked, "Is he alright? Anything serious?"

  Pomfrey shook her head. "He's completely exhausted... barely any energy left in him. I doubt he can even properly hear us right now. But nothing serious. He'll be fine after a full day's rest."

  McGonagall let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, and so did several others. Then, her gaze shifted to Maverick, and her eyes softened.

  "Thank you, Professor Caesar. You saved my student's life."

  Maverick quickly shook his head. "He's my student too, Professor. And besides—" he turned to Steven, who now looked relieved, "I think we've found our reserve Seeker."

  Steven blinked before nodding, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I think so. I mean," he glanced at McGonagall before adding hesitantly, "if he can promise not to be reckless with his body... and also improve his physical fitness, then I'd say he's a solid pick even for the full team. But there are a few other good candidates too. We'll see after next week's mock matches."

  Maverick didn't argue. The final decision was Steven's to make, and he had no plans to interfere.

  As the cheering students slowly began murmuring amongst themselves, Maverick spotted Ron Weasley, Oliver Wood, and Percy Weasley approaching, all looking concerned.

  Ron arrived first, panting slightly from running. "Professor... is Harry alright?" His eyes flicked anxiously to Pomfrey, who was still waving her wand over Harry.

  She didn't look up as she responded. "Harry Potter is fine. He's just exhausted. I'll take him to the hospital wing so he can rest. You may come if you wish and stay with your friend."

  Ron nodded without hesitation, following her as she levitated Harry toward the castle.

  Oliver and Percy did not follow, and after being reassured that Harry would be alright, they returned to the crowd.

  Meanwhile, the teachers and Steven prepared to continue the trials. They still had a couple of hours left before the designated time to end for the day, and there were plenty of students waiting for their turn to showcase their skills.