There will always be a handful of people who can't stand to see others doing well—watching someone else embarrass themselves is the greatest joy in their lives.
Today, they finally got to witness Eda's moment of disgrace, and it was enough to make them giddy with delight.
They saw this as a perfect opportunity for poetic justice.
As long as Harry performed well in an official match, it would be a heavy slap in Eda's face—the better he did, the harder the slap.
Unfortunately for them, that scene was something they would never witness in their lifetime. Eda didn't care that Harry had become the Seeker. As long as it wasn't her, it didn't matter who the Seeker was. Nor did she care whether Harry or anyone else performed brilliantly. That simply wasn't her sore spot.
That's why the twins understood Eda best. They knew exactly what she cared about: the fact that Harry's broom had been a gift from Professor McGonagall.
That's right—Eda was jealous of a broomstick.
Ridiculously childish behavior, almost absurdly so. It was the kind of emotion that shouldn't have appeared in her at all, yet it had, and undeniably so.
If the broom had been a gift from Dumbledore, Eda wouldn't have cared. Even if Dumbledore had bought Harry a rocket, she wouldn't have batted an eye.
But the one who gifted Harry the Nimbus 2000 just had to be Professor McGonagall.
How could Eda not overthink that?
It was precisely this strong sense of crisis that made her feel like she was no longer McGonagall's most beloved student.
Eda had never expected that one day, she would end up in Ron's shoes—reduced to a younger-sibling status on equal footing with Ron.
The Weasley family had seven children, and naturally, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley couldn't possibly divide their love for their children into seven equal parts. They were ordinary people—it simply wasn't something they could do.
Ron wasn't the eldest, like Bill, who had come into the world when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had just become parents and naturally favored their firstborn. He wasn't the youngest either—that was Ginny, who, being the baby girl of the family, received affection from everyone. Nor was Ron the most outstanding—he wasn't Charlie, and he wasn't Percy.
The Weasleys were kind people. They didn't treat any of their children poorly, and they did love Ron. But compared to his brothers, the amount of affection Ron received was undoubtedly the least.
This kind of situation was common in large families. Parents were human too; they couldn't divide their love equally or treat every child exactly the same. Some children would naturally receive more, and others less.
Eda felt like she was the Ron of Professor McGonagall's eyes, while Harry Potter was Bill, or Charlie, or Ginny—whichever, as long as he was the more cherished one.
Jealousy can twist a person beyond recognition.
Jealousy can even tear someone apart from the inside.
Eda knew she must look absolutely detestable right now—so ugly emotionally that no one would want to look at her.
She felt as if she had just eaten a whole basket of lemons, sourness spilling from the depths of her chest until it nearly drowned her entirely.
During Transfiguration class, Eda desperately hoped Professor McGonagall would say something to comfort her. Her face practically screamed, "Please coax me, I'm really easy to coax."
But her flirtatious hints were lost on a blind eye—Professor McGonagall didn't catch on to her odd behavior and simply thought Eda was feeling unwell.
Professor McGonagall had once been married, but that period of happiness lasted only three years. She had no children, and no experience raising any. If it had been Mrs. Weasley instead, she would've seen at a glance what was really going on with Eda.
This is what it means to have different areas of expertise. When it came to Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall could outshine Mrs. Weasley by ten streets. But if it was about raising children, Mrs. Weasley could leave McGonagall ten streets behind.
On top of that, Eda always acted so mature and sensible that it never even occurred to Professor McGonagall that Eda could be capable of something as petty as jealousy.
This was a question entirely out of syllabus even for someone as experienced as McGonagall—so out of her depth, she truly didn't know how to handle it.
McGonagall's "inaction" didn't go unnoticed by Eda—it only made her feel worse. Right now, Eda was just like a lead in a third-rate soap opera, throwing a tantrum not at the male lead, but entirely at herself.
There was one thing McGonagall hadn't misunderstood: Eda really wasn't feeling well these past two days. After all, everyone has those few days each month where they're just not at their best—irritable, anxious, sensitive.
If the broomstick had arrived a few days earlier or later, none of this drama would have happened. But of course, it just had to come at this exact time, as if it were purposefully delivered to set Eda off.
For the past two days, Eda had been trying to regulate and manage her emotions, doing her best not to let it affect others. But the broom's arrival in the morning completely shattered her carefully maintained calm. All her efforts were wasted, and she could no longer bring herself back under control.
In all of Hogwarts, only the twins understood that Eda was sulking. But Eda had already buried herself deep in her own frustration, and nothing the twins said could get through to her.
To Eda, the twins' attempts at comfort sounded completely dismissive. That whole "The Nimbus 2000 was originally meant for you, but since you're not in the starting lineup anymore, it went to Harry instead"—what was that supposed to be? Were they taking her for a three-year-old?
In the first week of the term, Eda had been tentatively assigned as Seeker, and now, half a month had passed and there still wasn't even a shadow of a broomstick. Eda just wanted to ask the twins: what kind of owl flies this slow? It had been two weeks and it still hadn't brought back a lousy broom—was it Errol?
That afternoon was Potions class.
Snape now basically ignored Eda's existence.
As long as she didn't blow up the classroom like Seamus Finnigan, he wouldn't bother with her.
The Potions Master was still holding a grudge and had decided to put her on ice for a while.
This approach had worked just fine before—but today, Eda wasn't herself.
She was so off that she even added too much leech juice to her cauldron. In the mess of her distraction, Eda completely ruined the entire batch of potion. She swore her "Shrinking Solution" could probably poison the whole classroom.
Eda didn't want to stay in the dungeon any longer. She needed to calm down, to regain her lost composure and sanity. She raised her hand and said, "Professor Snape, I'm not feeling well today. May I leave early?"
Snape didn't even glance at her. He replied, "No. There are all kinds of potions in the cabinet—find one and drink it. If you accidentally poison yourself, I won't be held responsible."
The Potions Master had no idea that something was truly off about Eda today. He thought she was just trying to get his attention. He wasn't about to forgive her that easily. Maybe next month—but this month? Not a chance!
Soon, the whole class watched Eda leave her seat. But she didn't head toward the cabinet of potions—she walked straight toward the classroom door.
"If you return to your seat right now, Gryffindor won't lose any points," Snape said. The threat of losing house points had always worked wonders on Eda. It was how he had gotten her in line in the first place.
But today, that tactic was destined to fail—Eda no longer cared whether Gryffindor lost points or not. Snape's threat just made her feel worse.
If not for Professor McGonagall, who would care whether Gryffindor lost points?
Even if Gryffindor came in dead last every single year, so what? Eda would still graduate.
She cared about the house, but who cared about her?
Her mindset completely shattered, Eda turned back to Snape and asked with a smile, "Five points? Or ten? If that's not enough, how about fifty?"
And with that, Eda walked straight out of the dungeon classroom. She knew she shouldn't be feeling this way, shouldn't be doubting Professor McGonagall's affection for her—but she just couldn't stop herself from thinking it.
The classroom was silent. No one dared speak. No one wanted to test Snape's temper.
The Gryffindors had waited over two years to see someone stand up to Snape like that. Now they had finally seen it, and losing house points would've been worth it.
"Gryffindor, minus—" Snape only got halfway through the sentence before he stopped. He didn't finish, and Gryffindor didn't lose any points.
The reason Snape had been deliberately ignoring Eda was because she had started getting close to Harry Potter. The scene felt eerily familiar to him, as if the past were repeating itself—and it made him deeply uncomfortable.
But the look in Eda's eyes as she left the classroom just now made him even more unsettled. In that fleeting moment, he seemed to see the past… and see himself.
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