Time flew by, and before long, another two days had passed.
Charlie woke from his beautiful dream about Charms Class.
Professor Flitwick was standing at the front of the classroom, explaining a new spell.
When he saw Charlie wake up, he turned a blind eye and didn't call him out.
The bell rang, and Charlie gathered his things, ready to leave.
Ron ran over excitedly and grabbed Charlie by the arm.
"Charlie! Come with me, quick."
"What's got you so excited?" Charlie stumbled as Ron tugged him along.
"The Rampaging Mountain Giant! You seriously haven't heard?"
"Today's the Quidditch Match between Gryffindor and Slytherin!" Ron's eyes were practically glowing.
"And Harry's on the team, too."
"I heard from Fred that Harry's really good. We're definitely going to win."
Charlie remembered. Today really was match day.
That sounded like fun. One of his greatest pleasures in his previous life had been watching sports. He wondered how the Wizarding World's matches differed from football.
"Wait a moment."
Charlie stopped Ron, who was in a hurry to leave.
"Billy."
With a pop, Billy appeared in the corridor, startling Ron.
"What can I do for you, young wizard?" Billy asked respectfully.
Charlie pulled a Galleon from his pocket and handed it to Billy.
Every week, Charlie gave Billy a Galleon. Otherwise, why would Billy keep looking after him?
In fact, compared with Billy's service, one Galleon was pitifully little.
But whenever Charlie tried to give Billy more, Billy refused. He thought Charlie had given him enough, and was even very grateful to him.
"Sorry for the trouble, could you get me some marinated food? Marinated Chicken Leg, Marinated Egg, Marinated Tofu—anything will do."
How could you watch a match without snacks? What a shame he couldn't have a drink, too.
Ron stared, dumbfounded.
"You can do that?"
Billy soon returned with a big bag of fragrant marinated snacks.
The rich aroma wafted through the corridor, making the students passing by swallow hungrily.
"Let's go. Now we can watch the match."
The two headed to the Quidditch Pitch together.
The pitch was packed, with students from all four houses in attendance.
Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and the others had already secured a prime spot. They had stretched a bedsheet into a banner, with a huge lion painted on it.
Hermione had even used magic to make the lion move, roaring majestically.
Hagrid was sitting beside them, too.
"Over here! Over here!"
Neville waved to Charlie and Ron.
When they saw the huge pile of food Charlie had brought, Neville and Seamus immediately cheered up.
"Oh! Charlie, you thought of everything!" Seamus rubbed his hands together.
"A match with good food—this is how it should be."
Hermione furrowed her brow, as if she wanted to say something about breaking the rules, but she kept quiet.
Ever since the Troll Incident, she hadn't been so opposed to breaking rules.
Soon, the players from both teams entered the pitch.
The Gryffindor players wore bright red uniforms, while Slytherin's were green.
Harry was among them, riding his Nimbus 2000 and waving to his friends in the stands.
"Go, Harry!" Ron shouted.
The match began.
Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle high into the air, and all fourteen players shot skyward.
The commentator, Lee Jordan, launched into his excited commentary.
"The match has begun! Gryffindor gets to the Quaffle first!"
"Angelina Johnson breaks through with the Quaffle—what a beautiful feint!"
Charlie listened to the commentary as he slowly gnawed on a Marinated Chicken Leg, thoroughly content.
Mmm, watching a match while eating marinated snacks—that was the real deal.
High above, Harry was focused on searching for the Golden Snitch.
As the Seeker, his job was to catch the Golden Snitch and win 150 points for his team.
But on the Staff Table, where Harry couldn't see him, Quirrell was watching him darkly.
A malicious gleam shone in his eyes, and a strange smile curled his lips.
Quirrell silently sought his master's approval.
Master, I'll make Potter fall to his death in front of everyone. That way, we can get rid of him and make it look like an accident.
He began murmuring a spell, cursing Harry's broom.
In the sky, Harry suddenly felt his broom begin to shake uncontrollably.
Harry's heart leapt into his throat. He gripped the broom handle tightly and clamped his legs around it.
"What's going on?"
Could Malfoy really have gotten someone to curse me?
Harry tried to steady the broom, but the sense that it was out of control grew stronger.
The broom began swaying from side to side, and it rapidly lost altitude.
Gasps rose from the stands below.
"What's wrong with Harry? Could someone really be cursing him?" Ron asked anxiously, jumping to his feet.
"Something doesn't look right," Hermione said, frowning.
Charlie pulled out his Wand. If Harry fell, he could catch him with the Levitation Charm.
Just then, Harry's broom suddenly gave off a faint glow.
In the sunlight, it was barely noticeable, like a reflection off the broom.
Everyone in the stands was focused on Harry's dangerous predicament, and no one noticed this detail.
Harry felt the broom come under his control again and breathed a sigh of relief.
Professor McGonagall's magic must have worked.
Good thing I listened to Charlie.
Harry was secretly relieved.
Although the situation had been dangerous, the match was still underway. Harry wanted to win just as much, so he continued searching for the Golden Snitch.
The professors were watching the match from the Staff Table.
Harry's predicament had startled them, too.
One greasy-haired professor had suspected a curse and was just about to try to counter it, but when Harry stopped shaking, he dismissed his suspicions.
Suddenly, a loud bang came from behind them.
"What was that?" Professor Snape turned around.
The other professors turned to look as well, but there was nothing behind them.
"Wasn't Professor Quirrell sitting back there just now?" Professor Sprout asked, puzzled.
"Where is he?"
Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at the empty seats in the back row, a knowing look flashing in his eyes.
At that moment, behind the Staff Table, Quirrell was struggling to his feet.
He had been in the middle of chanting the curse when he suddenly felt a powerful force rebound, flinging him right off his seat.
The back of his head slammed into the ground, making him see stars.
Worse still, Voldemort was living on the back of his head.
That impact had left the Dark Lord badly shaken.
"Idiot!" Voldemort's voice roared inside Quirrell's mind.
"What are you doing?"
"Master, I don't know." Quirrell clutched the back of his head, grimacing in pain.
"I was definitely cursing Potter's broom. How did it suddenly..."
"Shut up!" Voldemort seethed with rage.
"You worthless fool! You can't even deal with a child!"
A searing pain shot through the back of Quirrell's head. Voldemort was punishing him.
Quirrell writhed on the ground in pain, but didn't dare cry out, afraid someone would discover him.
"Master, please spare me," Quirrell begged in a pained whisper.
"I really don't know what happened."
Quirrell's pathetic display made Voldemort even angrier.
The thought of the Dark Lord himself being reduced to living inside someone like Quirrell filled him with fury.
So he intensified the punishment.
Another wave of excruciating pain struck, and Quirrell couldn't help whimpering softly.
Hiding in the shadows behind the Staff Table, he covered his mouth and sobbed.
In the stands, Charlie lowered his Wand. Suddenly, the system's notification rang out.
[Because of Your Majesty, a teacher wept bitterly. Tyrant Points +5!]
"???"
Charlie looked utterly bewildered.
"What did I do? I'm just sitting here watching the match?"
Before you continue