Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 37

Chapter 37: I'm Not Afraid of You, I Respect You

As soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, that big oaf?"

A few other Slytherin students echoed his words, glanced at Harry, then fell silent again.

"Shut up, Malfoy," a Gryffindor girl snapped sharply.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. Harry, skilled at reading people, instantly saw she was currently one of Malfoy's admirers. "Never thought you'd like chubby little crybabies, Patil."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something off the grass. "It's that thing Longbottom's gran sent the big fool."

He held up Neville's recently received Remembrall—a device that would alert its owner if they forgot something—but if the owner forgot the Remembrall itself, it would be powerless.

Like now.

"Give it here, Malfoy," various Gryffindors demanded, helping Neville.

Malfoy naturally ignored them.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect—up a tree—how about it?"

Without waiting for others to respond, Malfoy had already jumped on his broomstick and taken off.

His previous words weren't entirely boasting—he could indeed fly, soaring freely at heights parallel with the oak treetops—though claiming he could compete with helicopters was ridiculous.

Harry didn't stop him because it was unnecessary. He watched Malfoy struggle a bit before finally finding a suitable position to place the ball. "Bring it down."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to Malfoy's ears.

Malfoy instinctively wanted to hand over the ball but felt it would be too embarrassing.

"Don't make me say it twice, Malfoy."

The expression on Malfoy's face quickly became tense. He thought of Harry's overwhelming strength.

Before power, self-respect could be set aside a little... Actually, it wouldn't harm his pride anyway—after all, not one Slytherin present dared resist Harry.

Malfoy was already among the boldest.

He retrieved the ball he'd intended to place in the tree, adding, "I'm not afraid of you, Potter... I respect you. I'm giving you face."

"Then I thank you for giving me this face."

Harry took the Remembrall, rolling his eyes.

The Gryffindor camp immediately filled with laughter, teasing Malfoy about "I respect you."

These Slytherins always liked doing such petty things—the key point being they harmed others without benefiting themselves.

Harry didn't think this negative stereotype was wrong.

Of course, this was because Harry was Gryffindor. If he'd entered Slytherin, he'd definitely have "naturally troublesome Gryffindor brats" on his lips instead.

It was all about positioning.

Due to Harry's intervention, Neville actually wasn't injured. After examination he could continue class. When he returned, Harry gave him back the ball, reminding him not to forget the Remembrall again.

Flying class continued. Harry tried riding briefly—very smooth. He didn't feel these old broomsticks were hard to control. Whenever he wanted to change positions, just giving a slight indication, the broomstick would move itself.

The only drawback was being rather slow. If magical power control reached a certain level, or by directly learning related charms, he could probably give the old broomsticks speed boosts.

After the previous episode, Madam Hooch observed the young wizards more seriously, naturally discovering that Harry's flying technique was absurdly skilled.

Saying his performance matched Quidditch World Cup star players wouldn't be excessive—considering the broomstick differences, it should be even more impressive.

Madam Hooch didn't show anything on the spot, just awarded Harry five points, then spread this matter among the staff.

So when Transfiguration class ended once more, Professor McGonagall kept Harry back.

"Potter, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, as long as it's quick—I don't want to miss lunch."

Harry assumed Professor McGonagall wanted to give him private tutoring. After all, his Transfiguration progress had far exceeded his classmates'. Not just Transfiguration—various practical course professors had more or less given Harry advanced teaching, including Snape.

Snape had dug out a pile of old textbooks from somewhere, possibly from two exceptional students long ago. The notes inside were numerous, the handwriting appearing to be one male, one female. Both were extraordinary top students in Potions, truly exceptional.

Snape had been surprisingly generous, lending Harry portions to copy, but warned Harry to return them promptly after copying and not leave any new notes on them.

Though Harry detested him, Snape's teaching skills and Potion abilities were formidable, and he instructed without holding back. Attitude aside, he was a good teacher.

"Don't worry, just something I want to discuss with you."

"No problem."

"Good, follow me."

So not private tutoring? Well, Professor McGonagall is quite nice—shouldn't be bad news, Harry thought, signaling Ron and Hermione to eat first while he followed.

Professor McGonagall strode toward the castle. Harry followed behind.

She moved purposefully, striding through corridors. Harry began guessing what had happened.

Walking along, he sensed Professor McGonagall's demeanor was stern, yet beneath it she seemed to be suppressing some... anticipation, even wild joy?

Could this be some kind of trap?

Though he felt no malice currently, people's true intentions were always hard to read. Perhaps some emotion was too strong, masking darker purposes. Harry had seen many smile to your face while plotting behind your back, even those who could deceive themselves—betrayals at feasts weren't uncommon.

Though he'd experienced a relatively peaceful period, the fact that Voldemort's followers had already infiltrated the school as professors reminded him Hogwarts wasn't safe.

Maybe the person before him had been hit with an Imperius Curse, as infamous as Avada Kedavra.

Harry gripped his wand tightly. Lightbringer was also ready at all times. At this distance, if she attacked, Professor McGonagall would take the hit first.

Finally, Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom.

She pushed open the door, poking her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood was a tall, burly fifth-year boy who walked out of Flitwick's classroom looking confused.

"Wood, follow me... I have something to tell you both."

Professor McGonagall said. The three walked together down the corridor. Wood curiously examined the famous Harry.

"Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Hello, Wood."

Wood originally didn't pay attention to matters unrelated to Quidditch, but Harry was simply too famous. After entering school, he'd displayed obvious superiority in everything, so Wood could always hear about him.