Got Hisoka template in Harry Potter World - Chapter 10
Chapter 10: Broomsticks & Bruised Egos
The Quidditch pitch stretched before them, emerald grass trimmed short enough to make a Malfoy proud. Madam Hooch’s whistle shrieked across the field as the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years shuffled into line, brooms at their feet like particularly uncooperative pets.
Madam Hooch: “Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, ‘Up!’”
Ron Weasley (face reddening): “UP! UUUUP! Oh, come on, you useless—” His broom smacked him in the face.
Jack Fletcher (broom leaping to his palm on first try): “Huh. That was easy.”
Draco Malfoy (sneering): “Even a squib could manage that, Weasley.”
Ron: “Shove off, Malfoy!”
Hermione Granger (broom rolling lazily): “It’s clearly about wrist motion, Ronald. Watch—” Her broom didn’t budge.
Jack (grinning): “Guess it’s a pureblood thing.”
Draco & Ron: “SHUT UP, FLETCHER.”
—
Once airborne, chaos reigned.
Parvati Patil shrieked as her broom spun like a top. Seamus Finnigan promptly crashed into a goalpost. And Neville Longbottom—poor, doomed Neville—shot upward like a cork from a champagne bottle, his broom bucking wildly.
Neville (clinging for dear life): “I DON’T WANT TO DIE A VIRGIN!”
Jack (already zooming after him): “Not helping your case, Longbottom!”
He dove, snagging Neville by the collar just as the boy’s grip failed. They spiraled downward, Jack’s borrowed broom screeching in protest.
Neville (face buried in Jack’s shoulder): “I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!”
Jack (grunting as they skidded to a halt): “Relax. If you had died, I’d have told everyone you weren’t a virgin. Hero’s honor.”
Neville peeked up. “…Really?”
Jack: “No.”
—
While Madam Hooch escorted Neville to the infirmary because he fainted from either fear of dying or happiness of survival, Draco spotted the forgotten Remembrall.
Draco (snatching it): “Look what Longbottom dropped! Maybe if he remembered his brain, he wouldn’t—”
Harry Potter (broom jerking upright): “Give it back, Malfoy.”
Jack (lounging mid-air): “Oh, this’ll be good.”
What followed was a aerial chase worthy of a bad rom-com—Draco taunting, Harry swerving, and Pansy Parkinson screaming “DRACO, YOU IDIOT!” as Harry nearly collided with her.
Then—
Harry (snatching the Remembrall mid-dive): “Hah!”
Draco (gaping): “THAT WAS LUCK!”
Jack (slow clap): “And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be graceful.”
—
The professor appeared like a vengeful specter, her glasses flashing.
McGonagall: “POTTER! Follow me.”
Draco (smug): “He’s so expelled.”
Jack (watching Harry’s panicked face): “Doubt it.”
Sure enough, ten minutes later, the news spread like Fiendfyre—Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century.
Draco (slamming his fist on the table): “MY FATHER—”
Jack (patting his head): “There, there. Maybe next time, don’t hand-deliver your rival to glory.”
Draco: “I HATE YOU.”
Jack (grinning): “I know.”