The weather had been getting colder recently, but the school atmosphere was quietly heating up—because Quidditch season had begun.
Michael was a loyal Quidditch fan. He had even watched the Quidditch World Cup live last year—a match that lasted five days and five nights. Michael had recounted seven times how the Scottish team had narrowly missed victory and how the Canadian team had thrillingly clinched the championship.
Thanks to his incessant commentary, even Wade had become familiar with many famous teams, such as Germany's Heidelberg Harriers, Bulgaria's Vratsa Vultures, America's Fitchburg Finches, and the no-longer-glorious Chudley Cannons. He also knew various Quidditch maneuvers, like the Hawkshead Attacking Formation and the Plumpton Pass.
But despite Michael's encyclopedic knowledge of difficult Quidditch moves and exciting plays, whenever he got on a broomstick, it was as if he were stepping on a landmine. He'd be stiff and cautious, moving only slightly faster than a trotting pony, and he would never ascend more than ten meters high.
Wade had always suspected that even in their second year, when they were allowed to bring Flying Broomsticks to school, Michael would still have to take the stairs back to his dorm—because the Ravenclaw tower was several times taller than ten meters.
Because Michael constantly talked about Quidditch, and his topics were always things Wade neither understood nor cared about, Wade had recently started avoiding him. Perhaps Michael will only return to normal after the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff match is over.
Hermione had also been busier lately. Several Quidditch-related books had appeared on her desk—because Harry was about to play his first match ever and was so nervous he couldn't eat. The two of them had started getting along better recently, and Hermione's way of caring for her friend was to diligently search for ways to help him in books.
Wade thought Michael and Hermione could definitely talk more. One loved to talk, the other loved to listen—it was a perfect match. It was just a shame that their house schedules didn't align perfectly, so most of the time, Wade was still the one forced to endure "Quidditch match recap broadcasts." However, Padma had recently joined them, and when she and Michael were chatting animatedly, Wade finally got some peace and quiet.
Hogwarts Castle was a massive complex, and finding an empty corner there was incredibly easy. Wade found an empty classroom on the sixth floor, near the library. Outside the classroom window was a small platform, which Wade had recently discovered as his secret spot. This platform was hidden and sheltered from the wind by taller buildings around it, and it couldn't be seen from any other windows. The view was also excellent—he could see the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
Several tiny figures zipped and flew above the Quidditch pitch, looking like diligent bees from afar. From the flashes of crimson and gold, it seemed to be the Gryffindor team training.
Speaking of which, Hermione had mentioned something yesterday in the Umbrella Room—the Gryffindor team captain, Wood, had recently lost his temper in the common room. He had previously asked the entire house to keep Harry Potter joining the team a secret, wanting him to be a secret weapon, but now it seemed everyone in the school already knew. Wood was convinced someone had leaked the information and was staring intensely at the young lions every day, trying to find the "spy." As a result, several girls had been reduced to tears—because they were dating students from other houses.
But in reality, it was obvious. The Gryffindor team trained three times a week, never resting no matter how bad the weather. Every time, Harry Potter would suddenly disappear, only to reappear exhausted after training. After a few repetitions, anyone would guess he had been specially recruited into the Gryffindor team. Moreover, they flew so high that one or two sharp-eyed students were bound to recognize him.
Wade stared at the distant pitch for a while. The flying figures looked chaotic; he didn't see any "figure-eight loops" or "Hawkshead Attacking Formations." He shook his head, unsure if his eyesight was poor or if the players' skill was lacking.
In comparison, Alchemy was much more interesting.
With a flick of his Wand, several small blue fireballs appeared out of thin air, radiating warmth. Wade took out On the Diversity of Species, which he had borrowed from the library, from his bag. He then transformed a stone pillar on the platform into a cushion and sat leaning against the wall to read.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly heard footsteps. Wade initially paid no attention, but after reading two more lines, his heart suddenly skipped a beat.
A faint smell of garlic wafted through the air.
Before his brain could fully process it, Wade instinctively canceled his Fire Magic and Transfiguration, standing up silently and swiftly, pressing himself against the wall behind a protruding brick.
"What are you looking at...?"
A sharp voice spoke, very soft, but filled with a gloomy and irritable quality, as if it were speaking right next to his ear.
Wade almost thought he had been seen earlier, and the voice was directed at him. Fortunately, after he hesitated for a moment, another timid voice chimed in—
"It's Harry Potter, Master," the voice said. "He's training with his teammates on the Quidditch pitch."
Wade immediately understood. It was Quirrell and his parasitic Voldemort—they were just on the other side of the wall from him!
He held his breath, instinctively shrinking back again, not daring to even breathe.
"—Harry Potter?" Voldemort uttered the name resentfully, whispering, "Yes, the Boy Who Lived... the Wizarding World's savior... while I was reduced to a shadowy wraith, he stepped on my corpse and became a superstar, didn't he? I'm sure Dumbledore has high hopes for him!"
Quirrell's mood was probably similar to Wade's; he cowered, not daring to speak.
"Kill him, Quirrell," Voldemort commanded coldly. "Kill him when he's in the spotlight!"
"But, but Master—with Dumbledore around, I can't do anything—you said not to draw Dumbledore's attention—" Quirrell stammered, sounding terrified.
"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? Do you dare defy my orders?!"
Voldemort did something, and Quirrell immediately let out a pained groan.
"No—I wouldn't dare—I obey—I obey—Master, I'll follow any of your commands—spare me—" Quirrell hissed in a low voice, pleading and writhing on the ground.
But Voldemort didn't stop immediately. After the torment continued for a while longer, Voldemort "mercifully" let him go.
"Use your brain, you fool," Voldemort finally said with a malicious voice. "He's going to play in a Quidditch match... flying fifty meters high... even if he falls off his broom, no one will suspect a coward like you who can't even speak clearly. They'll just think his skills aren't good enough—what's so strange about a brat who hasn't even mastered a few spells falling to his death?"
"Yes—yes—I understand—I'll do it—" Quirrell lay on the ground, snot and tears streaming down his face, trembling as he spoke.
It was a long while before Wade heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor get up from the ground, rustle his clothes back into order, presumably wipe away his tears, and then leave with heavy footsteps.
Only then did Wade let out a long breath, cold sweat instantly drenching his back.
-----------
Machine Translation by: https:// randomtranslator.com/
Read ***+ original & fanfic translations in English, Español, Português, Deutsch, Français, or Русский
Or Translate for free at : https:// randomtranslator.com/translate
Join our Discord: https:// discord.com/invite/XXUR9nkjwa
-----------