Chapter 168: A Thousand Sheets of Parchment
Since joining the Quidditch team, Kyle's schedule had become a constant juggle. Days were packed with classes, library sessions, nighttime ventures into the Restricted Section to copy notes, and squeezing in assignments—which seemed to have doubled in length this year. Professors had apparently conspired to change their paper requirements from inches to feet just last week.
To top it off, Quidditch training consumed three evenings each week, with Harris keeping everyone on the pitch for at least three hours per session, often until curfew. But the intense regimen had its benefits; after just a few practices, Kyle and his teammates were noticeably more in sync. Today, he and Harris had successfully executed the two-way attack—a classic maneuver adapted from the Wimbourne Wasps' Eagle's Head formation. They'd fly together toward the center goalpost, passing the Quaffle back and forth before splitting at the scoring zone to throw off the Keeper.
In their latest match, Kyle and Harris managed to score a total of 60 goals, leaving Hufflepuff's Keeper, Farrell, thoroughly overwhelmed. The poor boy had to be carried back to the dorm by his teammates, his eyes glazed over.
"Cheer up, Farrell," Harris encouraged, hauling Farrell's right leg, his face flushed with enthusiasm. "You're one of the best Keepers in school. If you're struggling, no one else has a chance either! We're going to have our name on the Quidditch Cup again this year, I'm telling you!"
"Why do I already want the tournament to start, and it's not even November yet?" he laughed as they trooped back into the castle, with Kyle bringing up the rear on his broomstick.
Just as they passed the Great Hall, they crossed paths with Fred and George, who were descending the stairs with pockets suspiciously full.
When Harris and the rest had gone, Cedric raised an eyebrow, grinning as he asked, "Almost curfew—is this a little nighttime stroll, or...?"
"Nope, just back from Hogsmeade and heading to the kitchens for a midnight snack," George said, patting his stuffed pockets with a sly grin. "Zonko's latest—grabbed them just before closing."
"All for our dear little brother," Fred added with a wink, tossing a leather pouch to Kyle. "Here's what you asked for."