Spectator Stand Farce

"For wizards, common cuts are not serious injuries and can be quickly healed using herbs such as Dittany."

Flamel explained to Loren the dangers of the Sectumsempra, "But the damage caused by this curse is difficult to heal with conventional means unless a counter-curse is used on the spot."

"As a combat tactic, isn't that a superior feature? Not to mention its use in processing herbs."

Loren believed that whether it was Dark Arts or normal magic, it was good magic if used for the right purpose. Magic was just a tool, and ultimately it depended on whether the wizard who mastered the magic was a black wizard.

Flamel laughed and said, "I agree with you to some extent, but what stops you is not just the unpredictable power of Dark Arts."

"Why is that?" Loren asked.

Flamel flicked his wrist, and a cloud of white mist shot out from his sleeve, spreading through the air.

The Duel Chamber suddenly went dark, with only the diffused mist glowing.

A young wizard emerged from it, with a handsome face and a gentle smile.

The opening scene shows the young wizard talking to himself while facing a black fire, a scene of him studying Dark Arts.

"Dark Arts is called Dark Arts because these spells can corrupt souls that are not steadfast enough."

As Flamel narrated, the handsome face of the young wizard who studied Dark Arts became gaunt and ferocious, and his smile turned mad. The Black Fire in front of him transformed into human corpses.

"If one is not steadfast enough, those who are drawn to Dark Arts will unconsciously lose some of their human qualities, gradually fall into the abyss, and self-destruct."

The black wizard in the picture is engulfed in Black Fire, eventually burning into a skeleton.

The white mist in the space dissipated, and the Duel Chamber became bright again.

Flamel's expression was serious. "Dark Arts, as a unique field, offers profound insights into the exploration of emotions and the soul. But I think you should wait until you've grown a bit more and have your own understanding of the world before getting involved with Dark Arts."

Loren understood. The corruption and defilement of the soul by Dark Arts was not a stable and effective magical effect, but rather the result of some wizards' excessive thirst for power or desire, leading them to become addicted to Dark Arts and drag themselves into the abyss.

This was consistent with his impression; after all, Dumbledore was a master of Dark Arts, yet he had never been seen to succumb to darkness.

Flamel meant that one should wait until one has a mature understanding and has established a complete worldview before engaging with Dark Arts.

Thinking this, Loren breathed a sigh of relief. If he were truly just an eleven-year-old wizard, perhaps he should heed Flamel's advice. But he wasn't.

Loren couldn't tell Flamel the reason, so they had to discuss it together.

The two made an agreement that if Flamel noticed anything unusual about Loren's temperament, he should stop practicing Dark Arts and seek help from Dumbledore.

And so, the progress in studying the Sectumsempra slowly moved forward once again.

Saturday morning, at the restaurant.

Yesterday's rain seemed to have drained away the moisture that had accumulated in the dark clouds recently. Although the sky was still overcast this morning, the rain had stopped.

Harry was already in a good mood just because it wasn't raining. He had training all day, so it was always good that it wasn't raining.

Neville seemed to have moved on from what had happened. He ate heartily and occasionally went over to talk to Harry and Ron. The three of them had agreed to go to the Quidditch Pitch together.

"Would you like to try the Seeker's position?" Harry said.

"I... I'll take a look first." Neville's face was beaming with smiles. He had already written home to ask for a new wand that would suit him, and he was full of hope for the future.

"Quidditch will be recruiting in the second year, maybe we should all give it a try." Ron felt he also had a chance.

The three discussed Quidditch with great enthusiasm, while Loren remained silent, trying not to attract their attention. He kept his head down, sipping his pumpkin porridge in small, warm sips.

He was thinking about how to fool Neville again if he found out he didn't have much Quidditch talent. Maybe he could mention that Harry's father was the Seeker...

There were no classes today, and Hermione's brown curly hair was unkempt, casually draped over her shoulders. Watching Loren eat at an ant-like pace, she knew he was already full.

"Come on, let's practice spells."

The little Witch dragged Loren into the Room of Requirement and practiced the Untraceable Extension Charm all day long.

When they returned to the Gryffindor common room that evening, Harry Ron and Neville were already back, sitting around on the bench.

"Loren! Hermione! Come here quickly, you have no idea how incredible what happened today is!" Ron called out to Loren.

He put one hand on Neville's shoulder and waved the other excitedly, "If you ask me, many Quidditch players can't keep up with Neville's speed. If only he could overcome his fear of heights."

Hearing such praise, Neville smiled shyly, "I'm not so scared anymore."

During the day on the Quidditch Pitch, Neville, despite his fear of heights, would feel dizzy after flying a certain height on his broomstick. However, his speed while flying close to the ground was astonishing to everyone on the Quidditch Pitch.

The Twins teased him, calling him a nimble fat man.

"Feeling dizzy in the air is a physiological fear of heights."

"This can't be a psychological trauma from Flying Class. You must have been afraid of heights long before that." Hermione's long eyelashes fluttered as she pondered. Both her parents were doctors, and she had some medical knowledge from being exposed to them.

Neville frowned as he recalled, "When I was eight years old, Uncle Algie threw me off the building to help me awaken my magic. I remember hitting the ground and then bouncing up, flying over the garden and landing far down the road."

Neville scratched his head. "It seems like I've been afraid of heights ever since."

"What?!" Hermione screamed in fury. "This is murder, torture! He should be in jail!"

"Calm down, calm down, Hermione," Loren said, pressing her shoulder to comfort her. "His uncle is a wizard; he certainly won't let Neville fall to his death."

It took several people a lot of persuasion to calm Hermione down.

Neville's Uncle Algie was unaware that he had almost been imprisoned in Azkaban for child abuse.

As the second Quidditch Match for Gryffindor approached, Wood's training became increasingly rigorous, continuing regardless of rain or snow. The Quidditch players even turned off the lights as soon as they returned to the locker room on several occasions.

"If Filch were smart enough, he should wait in front of the Fat Lady."

"They catch them every time; they all count it as nighttime activity."

The Twins complained, but Wood's training did not decrease because of the complaints.

Neville often accompanies Harry to watch their Quidditch training and is gradually overcoming his fear of heights.

It was Friday of the second week of the next school year in Snape's office.

In the dim light, Snape was grading papers at his desk, while Loren was in the storeroom.

He was staring blankly at a box of potatoes piled up in front of him, each potato cut in half by the Sectumsempra.

"Use the counter-curse to remove the Sectumsempra from the potatoes, and then restore them."

Recalling Snape's demands, Loren couldn't understand how someone could be so fickle. Last week it was about peeling the tuber, but this week it turned into practicing anti-spells.

Sigh, what can you do when you're under someone else's roof?

Loren pulled out his wand, thinking, "Let's just treat this as practice."

"[Episkey]"

"[Episkey]"

"[Episkey]"

The monotonous chanting echoed in the dark and quiet office of the Potions Master.

Thanks to the help of the Correction Talent, Loren's [Episkey] was able to quickly remove the remaining Sectumsempra from the potato slices, allowing them to reattach.

It's clear that Snape these potatoes casually, and the Magic Power on them wasn't very strong. Even without the help of his talent, he should have been able to remove them, just more slowly.

"Professor Snape, I'm done." Loren rubbed his arm, which was a little sore from waving his wand. He felt that he hadn't used much Magic Power, but he had used up more physical strength.

Upon hearing this, Snape stopped scribbling with his quill much faster than expected, indicating that he was not obsessed with Dark Arts.

"Don't get too caught up in power and neglect other things." Snape continued to draw with his quill.

"Professor, you probably wanted me to learn the Sectumsempra as soon as possible, so why did it suddenly turn into a reverse spell?" Loren still felt something was wrong.

Snape didn't answer; what was he supposed to say?

Recently, he noticed that the Miss Know-It-All was always acting alone instead of with Loren as before. This situation brought back some similar memories to his mind, making him think that Loren might be obsessed with power and had become indifferent to his friends.

Loren never dreamed that the root of today's events would be Hermione.

Seeing that Snape neither answered nor asked him to leave, he turned to ask another question he had forgotten about earlier, "Professor, why did you suddenly become Quidditch referee?"

Snape scoffed, "Even with the Sneakoscope, there's no way to save that famous the Chosen One off the field, even if we received a warning. I'm the referee to ensure his survival."

He paused for a moment, then continued sarcastically, "That foolish Mr. Potter probably thinks I'm trying to harm him."

He got angry at the mention of Harry Potter and Snape, and took it out on Loren: "You can go back now."

"Goodnight, Professor." With that, Loren made a hasty retreat, lest he be caught in the crossfire.

As the date of the competition drew near, a tense atmosphere permeated the students of Gryffindor; the heavy powder keg was already filled with saltpeter, and everyone was waiting to ignite it.

The match was held in the afternoon. The weather was neither good nor bad; it didn't rain, but the clouds had been overcast lately.

The first-year wizards gathered in a bleacher's stand, secretly cheering for Harry.

Neville couldn't understand why Ron and Hermione both had their wands out and clutched in their hands, as if they were about to start a fight at any moment.

Speaking of wands, Grandma replied that after the Quidditch Match, he would take leave to go to Ollivander's to buy his own wand.

He will never be the worst student in Gryffindor again, and he will never lose Gryffindor's House Cup points again.

Looking at Professor Snape on the field, well, the last one is pending.

"Remember, don't forget, it's the Locomotor Mortis," Hermione whispered to Ron.

"I know," Ron replied quietly, trying to keep Loren from hearing it.

The two planned to cast a spell on Snape should he show any sign of wanting to harm Harry.

Loren sat to the side without participating in the commentary. Hufflepuff was a friendly sister school, and Professor McGonagall thought his commentary style was offensive.

There doesn't seem to be a second Quidditch scene in the movie; compared to Ron and Hermione paying attention to Snape, he's more focused on Quirrell's movements.

Call out!

The whistle blew, and the fourteen players from both teams, along with Professor Snape, took to the air.

Harry sped away from the main battlefield, surveying the entire arena.

He believed Snape wouldn't dare to lay a hand on him under Dumbledore's nose, but to be on the safe side, he still planned to catch the Golden Snitch as soon as possible to end the match.

The match was intense, with both sides playing the game according to the rules and not getting too worked up.

In the stands, Ron and Hermione kept their eyes glued to Snape's every move.

"Ouch!" Ron cried out in pain.

Someone poked Ron in the back of the head; it was Malfoy.

Malfoy grinned at his two henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle, who laughed along with him.

"I wonder how long Potter can stay on his flying broomstick this time? Anyone want to bet? How about you, Weasley?"

Ron was focused on the situation on the field and had no time to pay attention to Malfoy.

Malfoy didn't know why he had to do these provocative things; he just wanted to get the attention of those around him.

But everyone's attention was on the game, and no one paid any attention to him, which made Malfoy a little angry.

"Do you know how Gryffindor Quidditch Team selects its players?" Malfoy shouted. "They pick the ones they think are pathetic. Like Potter, no parents, and the Weasley Twins, no money. Neville Lomberton, you should join too, because you have no brains."

These words were really too much. Loren looked away from the field, turned around and scolded Malfoy: "Enough, watch the game properly, or go back to the Castle."

Malfoy paused for a moment after being reprimanded, then felt a surge of anger and wanted to curse Loren as well, but for some inexplicable reason, he didn't say it.

Crabbe, standing nearby, cursed, "Pah! Mudblood! You and that Miss Know-It-All are both!"

Hermione heard the words but didn't understand what Mudblood meant. She was focused on Snape, protecting Harry.

Ron and Neville knew what the Mudblood meant, and looked at Crabbe in disbelief. They then angrily lunged at Crabbe, and the three of them began to fight.

Malfoy was stunned when he saw this.

An idea popped into his head: he should apologize to Loren on Crabbe's behalf.

A cold wind blew, and Malfoy found the idea of apologizing laughable. He was from a noble, Pure-blood Families; why should he apologize? They were indeed mud...

Malfoy didn't think about it anymore. He stopped Goyle from going up to help and turned to leave with him, explaining that he didn't want Slytherin to lose more points.

Ron, Neville, and Crabbe rolled around on the ground.

The three of them were fighting. Ron and Neville were there to help him vent his anger. It was obvious who they were helping.

Loren pulled out his wand and cast, "[Petrificus Totalus]".

A flash of white light, and a clean and precise Binding Charm struck Crabbe from among the three.

Crabbe lay on the aisle of the stands, his face pale and his limbs stiff.

Ron and Neville got up, their faces streaked with blood.

"How dare he say that!" Ron, still furious, kicked the slumped Crabbe.

Neville nodded, still basking in the excitement of his first impulsive fight.

He could hear his own breathing right next to his ear: whoosh~ whoosh~

My heart was pounding so hard it was right next to my ear: thump! thump!

A voice inside him asked:

Cowardly Neville, why did you rush up there?

Lomberton, how dare you charge in!

It was as if a force surged through my body, and that was courage.

"Are you all alright?" Loren asked.

Ron touched the blood on his face, then leaned closer to look at the stunned Neville. "Hehe, it's nothing, it's just this guy's nosebleed."

As he spoke, he kicked Crabbe a few more times.