The Match Begins

The Match Begins

Quirrell knelt on the bed, trembling all over. This time, he truly wept from fear.

"Master, you know that what I said this afternoon wasn't what I wanted to say," Quirrell said fearfully.

Feeling his master's presence, he hated Harry to the core.

"Shut up!" A hoarse voice suddenly rang out.

"Quirrell."

"Yes, Master," Quirrell said humbly.

"I've given you far too many chances, yet you haven't accomplished a single thing for me." The hoarse voice echoed eerily through the room, though Quirrell was the only one there.

Fear gripped Quirrell's heart, and his body shuddered. "Master, it's not that I don't want to complete your tasks."

"Whether it was stealing the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts or stealing it from Hogwarts, both were incredibly difficult. Without an opportunity, I simply can't succeed. Snape and Dumbledore are always watching me."

Voldemort said, "Since the Philosopher's Stone is temporarily out of reach, get me some Unicorn blood first."

Quirrell shivered. "But, Master, Unicorn blood carries a curse, doesn't it?"

"Is there a better way?" Voldemort said angrily.

"I understand, Master."

The conversation vanished into the darkness.

True winter had arrived. After November began, the weather grew even colder. The mountains surrounding the school were gray and covered in frost, while the lake was cold and hard like quenched steel. Every morning, frost covered the ground. From the upstairs windows, they could see Hagrid wrapped in a long moleskin coat, wearing rabbit-fur gloves and enormous beaver-fur boots as he defrosted the Flying Broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch.

In such freezing weather, Harry still had to continue Quidditch practice.

It really was grueling work.

Fortunately, after Harry repeatedly petitioned Professor McGonagall, she agreed to one condition.

He was allowed to ride a Flying Broomstick over Hogwarts during non-class hours.

When Wood and the others learned of Harry's special treatment, they were incredibly envious.

So they unanimously petitioned Professor McGonagall, hoping to receive the same treatment as Harry.

The result was that Professor McGonagall, her face livid, gave them all a harsh scolding and punished them by making them clean the trophy room ten times.

No magic allowed...

A few days later, fewer people were discussing the Halloween troll incident. After all, no topic lasted forever.

But the atmosphere became increasingly charged, because the Quidditch match was about to begin.

The only bad thing was that Quirrell had been discharged from the hospital, and everyone had to endure that nauseating smell in the classroom again.

A new day.

The Quidditch match had arrived.

The weather was cold and dry.

Harry sat in the dining hall, spreading sauce over fragrant grilled sausages, spearing them with his fork, and eating as he listened to everyone discussing the same topic.

Quite a few people argued themselves red in the face over who would win today. From the looks of it, Slytherin had more supporters.

Hermione ate bread covered in strawberry jam and asked curiously, "Aren't you nervous at all?"

Harry took a sip of juice and said indifferently, "What do I have to be nervous about?"

Hermione said, "It's your first time in a Quidditch match, and you're the Seeker. What if you lose?"

Harry smiled. "Merlin said that only those who care get nervous. I'm just treating it as a fun game. I don't care about the result, though of course it would be best if we won."

At eleven in the morning, all the teachers and students gathered in the stands of the Quidditch pitch.

They sat neatly in their seats.

In the changing room backstage, Wood was giving a pre-match pep talk.

Harry felt that what he was saying basically amounted to, "Comrades, the situation is dangerous, and our enemy is strong. But we are not afraid, because as long as we stand united..." and so on.

Wood asked Harry, "Harry, are you nervous?"

Harry smiled faintly and shook his head.

Wood said, "Very good. You should know that when I first played, my legs were so weak I could barely stand."

Everyone burst out laughing.

It eased the tense pre-match atmosphere somewhat.

"Come on, let's head out."

Wearing dazzling red uniforms and carrying their Flying Broomsticks, they went outside. The moment they stepped out of the dark backstage area, the bright light made them instinctively close their eyes. Then Harry heard deafening cheers.

Harry opened his eyes. The venue was somewhat similar to the Colosseum, except the ground beneath Harry's feet was a full twenty meters below the tiered seating, which was its greatest difference from the Colosseum.

The field was circular. Because of the distance, the figures high above could only be seen vaguely.

Harry could only make out which sections belonged to which Houses.

That was why so many students had brought binoculars. Once the match began and the Seekers from both teams started fighting over the Golden Snitch, they would fly even farther away. Without binoculars, no one would be able to see their thrilling contest.

Harry looked toward the Gryffindor House section and immediately spotted a huge banner. A row of students held it up and waved it from side to side. It read: "Harry Potter Must Win!"

That was Gryffindor's cheer. As the most outstanding among them, of course everyone wanted to support him.

Although Harry did not particularly care about the match, seeing more than seven hundred people cheering together still made his heart surge.

Harry understood why so many people loved standing beneath the bright lights of a stage. Whether singers or actors, they loved being stars and smiling beneath countless flashes.

Because that feeling was intoxicating.

Through his binoculars, Malfoy watched Harry's "smug" smile and nearly twisted his nose out of shape with anger.

The commentator, Jordan, said, "Next up, the Slytherin team is walking toward us. Look, they're still wearing those green uniforms. I remember giving them some advice last year, hoping they would change the color of their clothes."

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall said.

"Sorry, Professor. I just couldn't help myself."

The two teams stood together and mounted their Flying Broomsticks.

Madam Hooch stepped into the center and said sternly, "I hope this match will be fair and impartial. There must be no fouls."

She deliberately glanced at Slytherin's captain, as though warning him.

Marcus gave a fake smile and provocatively glanced at the Gryffindor players. When he saw Harry, his mockery became even more obvious.

"When you fall off your Flying Broomstick later, don't wet your pants, kid," Marcus said with a laugh.

Wood and the others looked awful.

"Shut up, Marcus," George said angrily.

Harry merely smiled.

Pretty interesting, wasn't it?

But it also showed that Quidditch rules were far too lax. In the Muggle world, such behavior could already earn someone a yellow card warning, but here, there were no clear regulations for anything.

So Madam Hooch could only stop him with a look.

Then, to prevent a conflict between the two sides, Madam Hooch gave them no more chance to speak. She took out a silver whistle and blew it sharply, then hurled the Quaffle in her hand high into the air.

The players pushed off the ground at the same time and shot into the sky.

The students raised their arms and shouted loudly.

In an instant, the shouts drowned out the entire stadium.

The match had begun.

Luo Bei: It's already the fourth day since the Wang Baoqiang and Ma Rong incident.

It's been all over everyone's feeds, hasn't it?

The more I read the news, the sadder I feel.

Based on the current reports, Wang Baoqiang really wasn't worth being treated like this.

He was a simple, honest country man. Maybe the thought of divorce had never even existed in his heart.

Yet reality gave him a crushing blow.

Sigh...