Harry Potter: Glory Bows to Me

There was heated discussion in the hall; the first competition had just ended and Hogwarts was still filled with the afterglow of the Triwizard Tournament.

After the others left, Amanta munched on toast while silently flipping through her Potions class notes.

Harry sat opposite, a ham sandwich in his mouth, and kept gesturing to Draco, waving his jam-covered fingertips in the air.

"So that shot I made yesterday - it was definitely the most beautiful one ever!" Harry announced vaguely, his eyes sparkling like a little wizard who had just won the Gobstone.

Draco snorted, picked up the napkin and wiped his fingertips elegantly, his posture as noble and picky as always: "Harry, if what you mean by 'nice shot' is accidentally tripping and rolling under the dragon's tail - then it is indeed unforgettable."

Amanta smiled softly, put away her notebook, and looked up at the rising sunlight outside the window.

"Leave after you finish eating, and don't keep Professor Snape waiting too long." She reminded lightly.

Harry muttered as he finished the last bite of bread soaked in pumpkin juice, and the three of them left the bustling hall and headed for the cellar.

Today's Potions class was with Gryffindor, but the atmosphere was much more subtle than usual.

In the past, the two sides would always be on edge whenever they met, but today there was no conflict - probably because in yesterday's Triwizard Tournament, the outstanding performance of Amanta, Harry and Draco raised the reputation of the entire Hogwarts, and even Ron Weasley, who loved to find fault the most, did not immediately find fault.

Amanta and Draco naturally teamed up and worked together skillfully around the pot.

The flame burned under the crucible, and the potion in the pot showed an attractive blue-purple luster. Draco's movements were clean and neat, and Amanta's instructions were precise, and the cooperation was seamless. They didn't look like students at all, but more like experienced potion masters.

Snape walked slowly from behind the podium, his black robe making a low rustling sound on the stone floor.

He stood in front of Amanta and Draco, his eyes fixed solemnly on their potions, his thin lips pressed into a thin line.

After a moment, he spoke in a low, hoarse voice, as if it was squeezed out by twisting his neck:

"...Yesterday was...okay."

Harry almost laughed out loud, but Draco elbowed him hard.

Amanta suppressed her smile and raised her head with a serious expression: "Thank you, Professor Snape."

The corner of Snape's eye twitched, as if he was extremely unaccustomed to being thanked.

He snorted and turned to look at Draco. His tone was as cold and hard as ever, but with a hint of imperceptible satisfaction:

"It's okay, don't be complacent."

Draco immediately straightened his back and said sincerely and respectfully, "Yes, Godfather."

Behind the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley frowned and glanced at them with an extremely complicated expression.

He squeezed his throat, as if he had swallowed a frog, and muttered awkwardly:

"...You are quite capable. However, if you lose the next game, it will be a disgrace to Hogwarts."

Amanta raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything. Instead, Harry held back his laughter and gave Ron an exaggerated salute.

Seamus Finnigan came up and patted Ron on the shoulder, laughing and trying to smooth things over: "Alright, alright, it's not like you'll get hurt if you admit that they're great. Merlin, Potter, and the match between Malfoy and Hoffman - it was so cool!"

"Yeah, that's really good." Dean Thomas nodded in agreement, his attitude surprisingly friendly.

Even the usual smell of gunpowder in the air seemed to have dissipated a little.

Amanta lowered her head, her lips curled up slightly, and she gently stirred the potion brewing in the crucible. Light blue smoke rose up, reflecting her light golden hair, as if covered by a layer of quiet light.

The glory of the game can indeed change the direction of the wind a little.