Chapter 14: 6-1

Quidditch season had arrived.

“Hermione is a genius...”

““Everyone knows that, mate,”” the Weasley twins chimed in together, responding to my heartfelt murmur.

In their hands, they held jam jars flickering with Bluebell Flames. I held one too. Hermione had made them for us to keep us from freezing in the bitter cold. I had always been rubbish at this kind of delicate magic—and even more so at the creativity required for it—so even now, as Maria, all I could do was gratefully enjoy my friend’s brilliance. It’s enough to make a former hero weep.

“You don’t specialize in finesse; you specialize in making a spectacular mess,” or so Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had told me. I can’t believe even Luna said it...

Looking back, it’s truly absurd that Hermione could whip up heating charms like this so easily in her first year. I’m just glad I’m her friend. Every time a problem arises and she finds the solution, I think to myself: I’m bloody glad you’re not my enemy.

“Where’s the usual Golden Trio?”

“Have you been abandoned, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that...” I sighed. “The three of them are in the courtyard. Going outside in this cold—it’s madness.”

““Tell us about it. Playing Quidditch in this weather is utter madness. Oliver is a nutter.””

Hearing the twins’ deadpan unison, and knowing Oliver’s Quidditch obsession since my days as Harry, I could only chuckle, our three red-haired heads leaning together. Sorry I can't defend you, Oliver.

Anyway.

“So, since when did that ridiculous nickname start sticking to me?”

—The Princess of Gryffindor. I have no idea who started it, but by the time I realized it referred to me, Maria, it had spread through Hogwarts so thoroughly that it was too late to deny it. Before that, there were silly rumors calling me 'The Virgin Mary' or 'Lady Maria' because of my name, but I’d managed to quash those quickly. 'Princess' was so out of left field that I didn't catch it until it was too late.

Who would have thought that even the upperclassmen were using it to refer to me?

“Listen to this! Someone heard a story. A tale about a certain ‘White Lily’ student who was in Gryffindor years ago.”

“She was beautiful, noble, and brilliant. Despite being Muggle-born, she rose to become a Prefect and eventually Head Girl. They say she was so radiant she was practically divine. Ah, she was truly the Lily Princess of Gryffindor!”

“Worship our Princess! The one with the flaming hair befitting a Gryffindor! The one with the intelligent emerald eyes!”

““Oh, Princess of Gryffindor!””

“—And apparently, there was a boy who chased a certain girl around with poems that would make Shakespeare turn pale?”

“And word has it, two students who are the spitting image of that pair are here right now! What’s more! Whether it’s a tragedy or a comedy, they’re here as twins!”

“Goodness, I wonder who overheard that, or where it spread from... Perhaps there are two incredibly well-informed, handsome devils inside Gryffindor. Heaven help us.”

“—In other words, you two are the culprits.”

“Wow! Princess, you’re a genius on par with Hermione!”

“Shall we call you the Sherlock Holmes of Gryffindor next?”

“Please, just... stop.”

I slumped my shoulders as the twins danced around me, teasing me and the absent Harry mercilessly. I suspected as much, but it really was the work of these second-generation Marauders. And honestly, it’s all Dad’s fault... Whether it’s Harry who looks like Dad or Maria who looks like Mum, he’s still finding ways to get us into trouble.

Maybe Professor McGonagall was the source? Aside from Professor Snape, she’s the one at Hogwarts who looks at us with the most nostalgia.

“It’s a fact that you’re beautiful, though. That’s why the rumors stick.”

“Well, I have the face of a mother who was beautiful and brilliant. I’m not sure how I feel about people commenting on me, but it’s a fact that Mum was lovely. If people say I’m her living image, I suppose that’s just how it is.”

““……””

“What? Why that look?”

For some reason, Fred and George exchanged a solemn nod, like two Great Detectives who had just cracked a difficult case.

“We’ve found the root of Maria’s obliviousness.”

“The Prince is going to have to work hard for this one.”

“Eh?”

As I tilted my head at the twins’ mysterious resolve, I heard the sound of thundering footsteps rushing up the stairs. I felt a wave of maternal patience wash over me.

““—He is such an absolute git!””

The owners of the footsteps bursting into the Common Room were, as expected, the trouble-making trio. I’ve reached the point where I can identify them by their footsteps alone—it reminded me of Molly, who could accurately identify and scold her sons without even seeing them. I didn't mean for it to happen, but I’ve settled quite comfortably into the role of their guardian.

“What happened this time, Harry?”

“Listen to this, Maria!”

Harry didn't slow down, practically flying into my arms. I caught him with practiced ease.

“Snape made up some excuse to take my Quidditch book! And the match is tomorrow!”

“Honestly, it’s infuriating. If Hermione had been holding it, he wouldn’t have said a word. It’s because it was Harry. Maria, maybe you should just carry everything from now on?”

“My, what a novel idea,” Hermione said. “And should she read you bedtime stories as well? Maria, is your fire getting low? Shall I make it bigger?”

“Thanks, Hermione. You’re a lifesaver in this cold.”

“Maria, pay attention! You’re on my side, aren’t you?!”

“Of course I am. You’re going to try and get it back after dinner anyway, aren’t you? Does my pampered little brother want his big sister to walk him to the Professor’s office?”

“I’m not asking my younger sister for help!”

Despite his huffing and puffing, he didn't let go of his hug. Younger brothers really are adorable—even if everyone else in the room was looking at us with 'here we go again' expressions.

“The Princess is quite good at handling her brother.”

“I’m the older one!”

“In that case, allow your vassal Oliver to dispel the Prince-Regent’s worries. On the pitch!”

I brushed off the red-headed duo, who were essentially inviting Harry to play Quidditch instead of reading, and then murmured a thought.

“Hey, you three know about my ridiculous nickname, don’t you? Who do you think ‘the Prince’ is?”

“““Malfoy.”””

“……”

You should thank me, Draco, for holding back the urge to burst into fits of laughter right here.

“Hello, young Prince of Slytherin.”

“You seem in high spirits, Princess of Gryffindor.”

So he did know. As I pulled a face like I’d just swallowed a Slug-Vomiting Charm, Draco smirked at me triumphantly.

Today was finally the day of Harry’s Quidditch debut.

The crowd waiting at the pitch was already buzzing with excitement. In a section filled with Gryffindor’s red robes and scarves, Draco’s Slytherin green stood out remarkably. You’ve really stopped trying to hide lately, haven’t you? Not that I mind.

I looked up at the top row. A group was holding a banner that said 'Potter for President.' Harry’s roommates and friends, no doubt. Seeing it up close... it was quite something... the flashing lion was certainly humorous. I wonder who drew it? Hermione probably did the charms.

“There’s no way I wouldn't know. What do you think I’m in Slytherin for? To gather all the information you can't see.”

“And then you don't report it to me... Wait, are we being treated as a set? Even Ron and Hermione react like ‘if it’s you, it can't be helped.’ Of all people, Draco, it’s you. Ron looks like he’s swallowed a bowl of cockroaches every time your name comes up. And yet, even he accepts it.”

"Apparently, Maria Potter has two knights. Her twin Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy who crossed house lines. And the redhead makes more noise when I get close to Harry than when I get close to Maria."

“Ugh... what a nightmare...”

I couldn't believe the gossip the Ravenclaw boy had mentioned was actually common knowledge.

Just as I grimaced, a roar went up from the crowd, ignoring my despair. —The players were entering the pitch.

The Quidditch team, including Harry in his first match, took to the air. Lee Jordan began his lively, thrilling, and precisely-timed commentary (the kind that always annoyed Professor McGonagall). It was the first Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match of the year, after all. The tension was palpable.

Just wait, I thought. One day you’ll think this is better than Luna. I actually quite liked Luna’s commentary—the way she’d talk about the shapes of clouds instead of the score.

Back to the match. Harry’s broom-handling was magnificent. To think he’d supposedly only picked up a broom for the first time since starting school—it was the blessing of James’s blood.

(Though, 'first time' was a bit of a lie. Harry has no way of knowing that as a baby, some very impatient adults—namely James and Sirius—gave him a toy broomstick. So, for him, it counts as the first time.)

However, looking around the stadium, I was stunned.

Is this what ‘I’ looked like from the stands? It’s so hard to see. Once they get far away, you can't tell who is doing what. No wonder everyone wanted Omnioculars. I finally understood the value of Lee’s commentary.

Suddenly, Lee shouted that the Snitch had been spotted. Harry, who had been looking a bit lost near the goal posts, suddenly dove. I’m impressed he can see that thing with the naked eye. From the sidelines, the difference in reaction speed is startling.

As I nodded to myself in nostalgic memory, I glanced to my side. I remembered this guy was a Seeker too. Draco was watching Harry’s movements with an unexpectedly serious gaze.

“Can you see the Snitch?”

"No, not at all."

“But Harry can.”

“We were actually pretty amazing back then, weren't we?”

“Yeah.”

Despite being two former Seekers, we spoke as if it were someone else's business entirely, sharing a grin.

“Who are you rooting for?”

“Harry, obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting in this section.”

"Fair point. ...You’ve changed, Malfoy."

“Slytherins are soft on their own kind.”

““Ah.””

Our banter was cut short as Marcus Flint, a Slytherin player, violently blocked Harry. I instinctively reached for my wand in anger—but then, calm down, Maria-Harry. Dirty play from Slytherin... borderline fouls... or just blatant fouls... were par for the course regardless of the match. The guy next to me certainly had a history of it.

“You really don't care about the means to an end, do you, you Slytherins?”

“...Call it being hungry for the goal.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

After a penalty was awarded to Gryffindor, the whistle blew to resume. Amidst Lee’s increasingly biased commentary and McGonagall’s scolding, Harry suddenly began to move strangely.

No—there was something wrong with his broom.

“Wait, was that today?!”

I stood up abruptly. Draco looked at me, confused.

“Draco, look at Harry. Something’s wrong. His broom is being cursed. It’s Quirrell. Do you know what kind of curse it is?”

When it came to knowledge of curses, forbidden arts, and Dark Magic, Draco had always been superior during our time at the Auror Office. He could even give Hermione a run for her money. That experience wouldn't fail him now.

After staring at Harry being bucked by the broom for a few seconds, Draco answered.

“Confundus and interference. And a Disillusionment charm on the broom itself.”

“Brilliant. Thanks.”

I immediately began the counter-curse. I tracked Harry without blinking, muttering under my breath. Beside me, Draco joined in, muttering his own incantations. A student on my other side moved away, looking at us as if we were creeps, but Harry’s life was far more important.

I remembered someone had interfered with Quirrell. Snape had been casting a counter-curse just like us... but someone misunderstood—Hermione!

Thanks to everyone’s various efforts, Harry managed to regain control. After a bit more chaos, the match ended when Harry caught the Snitch in his mouth.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Honestly, being a spectator is nerve-wracking. Harry Potter’s bad luck, foul luck, and incredible luck are quite the combination.

“...’You’ always have a rough time of it.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

It seems the trouble-making trio has successfully made the connection between the three-headed dog, the treasure hidden in Hogwarts that Voldemort is after, and a man named Nicolas Flamel.

With the Christmas holidays approaching, I watched them from the Common Room as they busily frequented the library to uncover Flamel’s identity (specifically, that he is the creator of the Philosopher’s Stone).

Because I’m close with Draco, they haven't told me the details. In their youthful innocence, they suspect Professor Snape, and they fear that information might leak from me to Draco—and from a Slytherin like Draco to his Head of House. It makes me a little sad, as Maria.

However, I have my own things to do during the break, and I have plenty of secrets that I’d rather the kids didn't poke their noses into. So, over the last few days, a sort of unspoken rule of non-interference had been established.

Draco wouldn't actually tattle to Snape... well, the bratty Malfoy of the past definitely would have, but not the current one. But since the Harry of this era sees any Slytherin as an enemy, I suppose it can't be helped.

“You shouldn't push yourself too hard.”

I patted the shoulder of Hermione, who was groaning over a book she’d likely brought from the library—something with an incredibly boring title like 'A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry'. I placed a mug of warmed pumpkin juice a little distance away from her.

The mug was an early Christmas present from Lavender; it featured a moving black cat where the handle was the tail. It was a temperamental thing—you had to soothe the cat before it would let you use it. But Hermione loves cats as much as Ginny does, so I figured she’d be fine.

“But if we don't find it before the break—those two will definitely forget about Nicolas Flamel and just play—I’ll warn them—but I know they will—”

She was exactly right, so I couldn't say anything. It was Harry's first Christmas away from the Dursleys. I felt he should be allowed to run around a bit.

“—Wait, oh? Maria? I... um, just now...”

“Hmm? Hermione, were you napping? I didn't hear anything but sleep-talking. You said you couldn't wait for the Christmas pudding and chicken.”

“I did not!”

I chuckled at her reaction; she’s so fun to tease. Hermione’s face turned bright red, but she soon composed herself and whispered awkwardly.

“...Sometimes, Maria, I feel like you know everything.”

“Hardly.”

—There are so many things I don't know. The world I live in is always as vivid and strange as magic itself.

“You’re worried about those rascals, aren't you? Don't worry, I’ll keep an eye on them. You go and enjoy your time with your family, okay?”

“...Yes, I feel safe leaving it to you, Maria.”

With a sigh of relief, Hermione smiled and finally reached for the tail of the cat dozing in the pumpkin juice. She grabbed it. Firmly. Without hesitation.

Ah.

“—I am never using this mug again!”

Splashed with hot pumpkin juice after the painted cat hissed at her, the girl had the exact same expression as her future cat, Crookshanks, when his tail gets handled roughly.