Quirks in Wizarding World

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- Hogwarts Castle -

- September 1991 -

The days passed in a steady rhythm. Morning classes, afternoons spent in the library or the common room, evenings filled with studying and occasional mischief. Arthav quickly made a name for himself in the academic world of Hogwarts, gaining the reputation of a prodigy.

Professors often called on him to help others during lessons. Flitwick beamed whenever Arthav flawlessly executed charms that stumped even older students. McGonagall, though not easily impressed, would nod approvingly whenever he performed Transfiguration without hesitation. Even Snape, who despised most non-Slytherins, acknowledged his skills in Potions, though never with words—just a subtle narrowing of his eyes when Arthav completed a brew perfectly.

The Slytherins, however, remained unchanged. They had rejected him from the start, but now, rather than jeering or trying to provoke him, they simply ignored him altogether. He had expected nothing else—except for a few surprises.

Daphne Greengrass and her close friends, Tracey Davis and even Theodore Nott on occasion, approached him during study periods. At first, he thought it was some sort of trick, but it wasn't. They genuinely wanted his help. Daphne, in particular, seemed to have no issue speaking with him, asking for clarifications on advanced spells and occasionally even engaging in discussions about magical theory.

Still, Arthav didn't let it distract him. He focused on his own circle—his friends.

Despite their different houses, he spent time with everyone in his growing group: Harry, Hermione, Parvati, Padma, Anthony, and Terry. They shared meals, worked on assignments, and even found time to joke around. He had expected to feel like an outsider in this world, but here, with them, he didn't.

The only exception was Ron.

The frost between them remained. They barely acknowledged each other, both content to ignore the other's existence. Harry and Hermione attempted to mend things, pushing for reconciliation, but it was pointless. Ron refused to admit fault, and Arthav had lost interest in trying.

That was the state of things as Hogwarts approached its first major event of the school year—the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

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- Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch -

- September 15, 1991 -

The stadium was alive with energy. Students filled the stands, waving banners and scarves enchanted to flash Gryffindor's red and gold or Hufflepuff's yellow and black. The air was crisp, carrying the shouts and cheers of the crowd as excitement built. It was the first match of the season, and all eyes were on one player—Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in over a century.

Arthav adjusted his Gryffindor scarf, glancing at his friends. Hermione sat beside him, looking anxious, constantly wringing her hands. Padma and Parvati were chatting about the teams, while Anthony and Terry were engaged in a debate over Quidditch tactics.

"Gryffindor has the better Chasers," Terry said, leaning forward. "Spinnet, Johnson, and Bell are solid. Hufflepuff's Chasers are decent, but they don't work as seamlessly as a unit."

Anthony shook his head. "Maybe, but Hufflepuff's Keeper is excellent. Their defense is stronger than Gryffindor's. Wood is good, but he's too aggressive sometimes. If Gryffindor doesn't get an early lead, it could be tough to break through later."

Parvati smirked. "You're both overthinking it. This match is about Harry and the Snitch. The Chasers and Keepers won't matter much if he catches it fast enough."

"Assuming he doesn't get knocked off his broom first," Arthav added with a small grin.

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "That's not funny."

Padma nudged her playfully. "You're acting like you're the one flying."

Hermione sighed. "It's just… I read about how dangerous Quidditch can be. Some players have broken every bone in their body during matches."

Terry waved a dismissive hand. "That's only when someone plays recklessly. Or if a Bludger goes rogue."

Arthav watched the field, scanning the Gryffindor team as they prepared to take off. Fred and George Weasley hovered near the center, already cracking jokes with Wood, who looked tense but determined. The Hufflepuff players were huddled in a tight group, discussing last-minute strategies.

"You think they'll target Harry?" Padma asked quietly.

Arthav considered it. "Probably not directly, but if they're smart, they'll try to control the Bludgers. Harry's new, untested in real matches. If they make him nervous or throw him off balance, he might make mistakes."

Parvati hummed in thought. "I hope Fred and George keep an eye on him. They're good Beaters."

"They'd better," Hermione muttered. "If anything happens to Harry…"

The sharp blast of Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the chatter. The players kicked off the ground, soaring into the air as the game began. The crowd erupted into cheers as Gryffindor took early control of the Quaffle, Angelina Johnson speeding toward the Hufflepuff goalposts.

Arthav leaned forward, already knowing what was going to happen soon, and he was ready to prevent any untoward things happening to Harry, not sticking to his known scenario. He watched Harry as he rose above the chaos, scanning for the Snitch. He flew smoothly, but there was tension in his movements. The first real test of his abilities had begun.

For now, all they could do was watch and hope.

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The match had been going well. Gryffindor was leading, and Harry was doing fine—until he wasn't.

At first, it wasn't obvious. But then, his broom jerked unnaturally mid-air. It happened again, more violently this time. Harry clutched the handle tighter, his knuckles turning white as his body lurched. The crowd didn't notice immediately, still cheering and shouting, but then the Gryffindor announcer's voice rang out, confusion clear in his tone.

"Something's… wrong with Potter's broom!"

Gasps rippled through the stands. Hagrid, seated nearby with his massive binoculars, muttered, "Hold on, Harry…" as he adjusted the focus. His usual jovial expression was replaced with concern.

Arthav had already seen it. His enhanced eyesight let him catch the unnatural dark tendrils wrapping around the broom, making it twist erratically. But there was something else—another set of tendrils, silvery in hue, struggling against the dark ones. Someone was trying to counteract the jinx.

His eyes flicked to the professor's stand. Snape. His mouth moved continuously, eyes locked onto Harry, fighting for control. But Snape wasn't the only one. Another figure—Quirrell—was muttering as well, his face half-hidden under his ridiculous turban.

Hermione, who had borrowed Hagrid's binoculars, stiffened beside him. "Snape's jinxing Harry!" she hissed, her grip on the binoculars tightening. "He hasn't taken his eyes off him!"

Arthav barely heard her. His mind was already working.

Snape isn't attacking—he's protecting.

Snape was counteracting Quirrell's jinx, but it wasn't enough. The dark tendrils had taken firm hold of the broom. As Arthav observed the tendrils turning even darker, a realization hit him—Voldemort was now taking control of Quirrell's magic, most likely intent on harming Harry. Snape's counter-curse was being overpowered.

The situation was getting worse.

Arthav didn't think. He acted.

He focused, willing his magic forward. It was something he had been experimenting with—bending raw magic to his intent instead of relying on structured spells. Now, he put it to the test.

Something shifted in him.

A golden tendril erupted from his form, stretching toward the chaos in the sky. It wasn't a spell, nor a charm—it was pure will. The strain was immediate, sharp, burning through his mind like fire. He clenched his jaw, feeling something warm trickle down his nose. Blood.

But he didn't stop.

The golden tendrils latched onto Harry's broom, reinforcing Snape's efforts. The combined force slowed the spiraling chaos. For a moment, it stabilized.

Fortunately, Hermione made her move.

Across the stands, a flicker of fire ignited. Quirrell yelped, staggering as his robes caught alight. The moment he flinched, the dark tendrils vanished. The broom steadied completely.

Harry, unaware of everything, took control again. Seconds later, he dove—and snatched the Snitch out of the air.

The stadium erupted into cheers.

Arthav exhaled, slumping slightly as he discreetly wiped the blood from his nose and eyes. No one had noticed. Good. He didn't want questions.

Instead, he turned to his friends, grinning as they jumped in excitement. He joined them in cheering, his mind already analyzing what had just happened.

The magic had worked—but it had taken something from him. Intent. Willpower. Focus.

He had always felt that his eyes had more potential than what he had already unlocked. They were capable of something more.

And today, he had taken his first real step toward unlocking it.

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