Hogwarts: The Cat Wizard of the Moving Castle

Draco was still unconvinced. In fact, he was the first to look at Harry after Mrs. Hooch came back and put the class back on track.

"Now, let's compete." He faced Harry face to face.

Harry put one foot across the broom, hanging by his feet, looking very casual. He looked at Draco, and then nodded helplessly: "Okay, if you insist."

However, what Harry didn't expect was that Draco was actually flying well, and his bragging seemed to be more than just bragging.

However, when Harry's series of sharp turns and accelerations left Draco behind, Draco's face became paler than before.

He almost collapsed.

Family background, reputation, strength, and even his favorite broomstick skills were completely destroyed.

When Mrs. Huo Qi announced that get out of class was over, he turned around and left almost in despair.

Crabbe and Goyle didn't catch up with him until they reached the underground passage, and they were both out of breath.

"Draco, what's wrong with you?" Crabbe asked.

"No, it's nothing, don't ask." Draco's voice was very soft, and he had no idea of ​​what to say.

"Pure blood supreme." He recited this command dryly, and then walked into the lounge. Then he found a sofa, fell down straight, and closed his eyes.

But not long after, he heard some different conversations.

It was Field, the guy who was beaten unconscious by Porter last Friday.

"I've had enough…"

"He must be taught a lesson..."

Thinking about it, Draco opened his eyes, and Field also noticed him and looked over.

"Malfoy, we're going to have some fun for Potter, are you interested?"

However, the expected situation did not occur.

He just shook his head, then stood up and returned to the dormitory.

Field frowned until Draco's figure disappeared, and then looked at Crabbe and Goyle.

"What's up with him?"

"We don't know either."

"Okay, what about you, want to come and have some fun with Potter?"

The two chubby little guys shook their heads repeatedly and simply rejected his proposal: "No, we are not looking for trouble."

Field grinned, turned his head, and muttered angrily: "Coward."

He had planned a big operation, and even said that he had taken advantage of the two third-year wizards.

Most of those who enter Slytherin are pure-blood wizards, and the circle is only that big. On Friday, the two third-graders will come forward because they are slightly familiar with each other.

But what they didn't expect was that after they came forward, they were completely ignored.

With that said, they started a heated discussion again, and the group of people talked loudly about ways to prank Harry without hesitation.

Get some ink on his clothes and, of course, homework.

Get some glue on his comb.

In short, no matter how disgusting it is, it is just to make Harry have a hard time.

When individuals integrated into the group, the little wizards' previous fear of Harry disappeared and they gradually began to talk loudly.

Right in the lounge.

Until a sigh interrupted them.

"I don't understand what I have to do to make you respect me a little bit. I also don't understand what makes you hate me so much.

Did I make a Gryffindor friend? But Slytherin used to be friends with Gryffindor. "

When everyone heard this, the previous high-pitched talk gradually disappeared, and some people looked at Harry at the door in embarrassment. Some people stared at him with stern expression after realizing "there are many of us".

"Why?" A man stood up. He was a head taller than Harry. He also had a lot of green stubble around his lips and some pimples on his face.

"I'll tell you why, Potter." He stepped closer to Harry.

"My father died in Azkaban. He was tortured to death by dementors." There was lingering anger in his eyes, and tears gradually overflowed.

"His relic is a piece of cloth, which is a suicide note written in blood." He said.

Harry also saw at this moment that this man missed his father deeply. At this point, he took back the words he was about to blurt out and said instead: "I'm sorry, but I guess it has nothing to do with me."

"No!" he roared angrily, spittle flying and falling on Harry's face: "If...if it weren't for you, none of this would have happened."

Harry's face turned cold. He suppressed the anger in his heart as much as possible and said seriously:

"If there's anyone who doesn't want this to happen, I guess I'm one of them! I sympathize with what you're going through, but I think we should change the subject."

"No--"

"All petrified!"

The curse came so quickly, directly interrupting his roar. He could only maintain the roaring posture, and his body fell forward stiffly.

Harry turned slightly to move aside for his fall.

Harry looked sulky. How many good people can go to Azkaban? Not to mention blaming him.

Before putting on that sad and angry posture, have you ever thought about the families that were hurt by your father? Have you ever thought about the evil things your father has done?

Harry could guarantee that he had tried to empathize with the other person from the same perspective as much as possible, and even offered to change the subject.

"Harry Potter!" came a roar.

Following the sound, it was the third grader who stood up on Friday. He took out his wand, pointed it at Harry, and began to recite the spell.

Then, a flash of blue appeared in front of his eyes, approaching quickly.

"Hanging upside down—ahem—"

The mage's hand doesn't even need to condense into a specific form. It only needs to be aimed at his throat and tap lightly to easily interrupt his spell.

But at the same time, as another person took action, the others had already drawn out their wands and cast spells on him.

However, the little wizards in the first and second grade cannot know a few magic spells at all. Even if they do, they have no sense of combat and cannot use them flexibly.

"Standing with legs stiff and dead!" "Collapsed!"...

Harry kept waving his wand, moving around, and approaching quickly. Sometimes he would use the hand of the mage to interrupt the opponent's spellcasting, and sometimes he would dodge to avoid it. If there was something he couldn't avoid, he would prepare it for himself - "Armor for protection!"

A yellow curse hit him, but there was no response.

"Collapse!" Harry responded by casting a spell with his backhand. At the same time, he punched a nearby person.

With a bang, a boy couldn't control himself and fell backwards.

Suddenly, the entire lounge was in chaos. And nearby, a group of senior students were watching the farce from a distance.