Thick of it : reboot

The corridor leading to the Quidditch pitch was alive with the sound of footsteps and chatter as Harry Potter strode confidently in his Quidditch robes, the rest of the Gryffindor team following closely behind. Oliver Wood, the team's captain, was at the forefront, his face alight with determination. Fred and George Weasley were cracking jokes as usual, their twin grins identical. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell brought up the rear, their brooms slung over their shoulders, ready for another grueling practice session.

Oliver turned to the team, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "I spent the entire summer devising a whole new Quidditch program. We're going to train earlier, harder, and longer. This year, the Cup is ours!" He paused, glancing to his left as they stepped into the courtyard. His expression darkened. "What…? I don't believe it."

The Gryffindor team stopped in their tracks as they came face-to-face with the Slytherin Quidditch team, also dressed in their Quidditch gear. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, stood at the front, his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Nearby, Ron, James, and Hermione were sitting on a bench, watching the scene unfold. Ron had a half-eaten apple in his hand, while Hermione and James were flipping through a book.

Oliver stepped forward, his voice sharp. "Where do you think you're going, Flint?"

Marcus smirked, holding up a rolled-up scroll. "Quidditch practice. I've got a note." He handed the parchment to Oliver, who snatched it and unrolled it with a scowl.

Ron leaned over to Hermione and James. "Uh-oh. I smell trouble."

Oliver's eyes scanned the note, his frown deepening. "I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker." He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "You've got a new Seeker? Who?"

Marcus stepped aside with a flourish, revealing Draco Malfoy, who sauntered forward with his trademark smirk. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "Malfoy?"

Draco's smirk widened. "That's right. And that's not all that's new this year." He held up his broom, the sleek design catching the sunlight. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Gryffindor team stared at the brooms the Slytherins were holding.

Ron's jaw dropped. "Those are Nimbus 2001s! How did you get those?"

Marcus crossed his arms, looking smug. "A gift from Draco's father."

Draco's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he glanced at Ron. "You see, Weasley, unlike some, my father can afford the best."

Hermione, who had been quietly observing, couldn't resist chiming in. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

Draco's smirk faltered, and he took a few steps toward Hermione, stopping just inches from her. His voice was low and dripping with disdain. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, her face flushing with anger. Before she could respond, James stepped forward, his tone light but laced with sharpness. "Woo, woo, calm down there, you inbred."

Draco's head snapped toward James, his pale face turning red. "What did you say?"

James tilted his head, his tone dripping with mock concern. "Did I stutter? Or do I need to say it slower for you to understand? You know, considering all those family connections must make things a bit… muddy up there."

The Gryffindor team erupted into laughter, Fred and George leading the charge. Fred clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to be wounded. "Oof, that's going to leave a mark."

George nodded sagely, tapping his chin. "Reckon Malfoy needs a dictionary for that one? Or maybe a family tree to sort out all the branches?"

Draco's face turned a shade of red that clashed horribly with his Slytherin robes. His silver-blond hair seemed to bristle as he took a step forward, his voice low and venomous. "You watch your mouth, Dawson."

James didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk widened. "Or what? You'll cry to Daddy? Or maybe get Snape to hold your hand?"

The Gryffindor team howled with laughter, Oliver Wood clapping James on the back so hard he nearly stumbled. Even Hermione, who usually disapproved of such confrontations, couldn't suppress a small smile. Ron was grinning ear to ear, his earlier frustration with his wand forgotten.

Draco's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "You think you're clever, don't you? Just because you're Potter's little lapdog, filthy Mudblood—"

Ron, his temper flaring, pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco. "You'll pay for that , Malfoy! Eat slugs!"

A burst of blue energy shot from his wand straight at Malfoy—but before it could make contact, James was faster. He flicked his wand in front of Ron. "Protego!"

A shimmering shield materialized, absorbing the knockback jinx just before it hit its target. The magical force dispersed harmlessly into the ground.

James turned to Ron, exasperated. "Bloody hell, Ron! Starting with a spell? Do you not know how these things escalate?"

Too late.

The moment the barrier faded, Flint and the Slytherins took it as an invitation. Wands flashed. A Stupefy came hurtling toward them, but James ducked, his instincts sharp.

Then it was chaos.

Harry and George lunged forward, shoving a few Slytherins back. Hermione, clearly regretting her life choices, still had the sense to throw up a Shield Charm to protect herself.

James, not one to be outdone, flicked his wand towards the ground in front of the Slytherins. "Serpensortia!"

A massive green snake erupted from the earth, slithering straight at Adrian Pucey. The Slytherin chaser let out a strangled yelp, stumbled backward, and promptly tripped over his own broomstick, crashing into Montague.

James smirked. "Oops. Guess that's one way to 'topple' the competition."

Meanwhile, Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to duel Derrick and Bole, hexes flying wildly. Harry had tackled Malfoy, both wrestling on the ground like a couple of overenthusiastic wrestlers, while Hermione was trying (and failing) to stop Ron from engaging in full wand-swinging combat.

"James, do something!" Hermione yelled, dodging a Jelly-Legs Jinx that barely missed her.

James sighed. "Alright, alright."

He grabbed Ron by the collar just as Flint fired a spell straight at them. With a quick movement, James yanked Ron into the spell's path.

Ron let out a startled "Oi!" as the Leg-Locker Curse hit him square in the chest. His legs immediately snapped together, and he toppled over like a felled tree.

James stepped around his now-useless friend. "Cheers, Ron. Great meat shield."

Ron, lying on the ground, glared up at him. "You complete arse!"

But James had already turned his attention elsewhere. He saw Malfoy scrambling back to his feet, wand raised—

"Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy's wand went soaring through the air, landing at James's feet.

"Nice shot, James!" Harry called, before promptly getting Petrificus Totalus-ed by Montague.

James rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry."

Now the field was an absolute mess. Half of Gryffindor's team was either hexed, bound, or trying to wrestle their way out of something. On the Slytherin side, Pucey was still tangled in James's transfigured snake, Malfoy was disarmed, and Montague was barely standing.

Then, all at once, someone—probably Fred—shouted "Tarantallegra!"

The spell hit its mark—unfortunately, it hit both teams indiscriminately. Within seconds, bodies all around the pitch were suddenly dancing uncontrollably. Flint was flailing like a puppet on strings, Malfoy's legs were doing an uncontrollable Irish jig, and even Hermione—who had tried to stay out of it—was now doing what looked like an involuntary waltz.

James was the only one left standing, wand still in hand, surveying the absolute disaster he had somehow helped create.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "You lot are embarrassing."

And that was the exact moment Professor McGonagall stormed onto the pitch.

Her sharp eyes scanned the scene—the petrified, the tangled, the dancing—and then landed squarely on James, the only one still standing.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Mr. Dawson," she said in a voice so calm it was terrifying.

James gave her a sheepish smile.

"…Would you believe me if I said it was all Ron's fault?"