Quidditch Match

As expected, the professors' comprehensive search of the castle yielded nothing the next day.

The Basilisk's tracks seemed to melt into the stone, leaving no trace.

With the search operation stalled, the students' panic, which had lasted for several days, gradually subsided as no new incidents occurred, and things returned to normal.

The castle's attention was soon drawn to another matter—the upcoming Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

An almost fanatical excitement filled the castle; tactics, broom models, and each house's chances of winning were discussed everywhere, in the corridors and the Great Hall.

Lin Du was not interested. He would rather spend his time deep in the library or in his small study, which was equipped with comprehensive protective enchantments, continuing to research his dangerous and fascinating subject.

"Hey," Chao Feng's teasing voice echoed in his mind, "this is a Gryffindor match. As a professor of this house, aren't you going to show your face? At least you're wearing the lion's skin."

"I'm not interested in Quidditch," Lin Du replied without looking up, continuing to flip through the dusty Ancient Runes Tome in his hands.

"Oh, come on,"

Chao Feng's voice was filled with undisguised sarcasm, "Stop making excuses. You're just biased against Quidditch because your broom-riding posture is as awkward as a goblin being strangled. Admit it, you're jealous of those little wizards who can fly freely in the sky."

"Shut up," Lin Du said in a low voice, but the tips of his ears felt hot.

He had been hit where it hurt—he truly had no talent for flying broomsticks, nor did he particularly like them.

Every time he got on a broom, he felt like a clumsy penguin, nothing like the students who soared freely through the sky.

"Did I hit a nerve? If you've got the guts, go see for yourself if it's really that boring?" Chao Feng continued to fan the flames.

Finally, perhaps to prove he wasn't biased, or perhaps just to shut Chao Feng up, Lin Du appeared at the roaring Quidditch Pitch one Saturday afternoon.

He found a relatively secluded spot in the stands, trying to distance himself from the frenzied atmosphere around him.

To his surprise, he encountered someone equally "out of place"—Severus Snape.

The Potions Professor stood alone at the edge of the stands like a black reef, watching the two teams warming up on the field with a blank expression.

"A rare sight, Professor Lin Du," Snape spoke first, his voice as smooth and deep as ever, betraying no emotion. "I assume you haven't suddenly developed an interest in this... sport full of noise and reckless collisions?"

Lin Du shrugged and stood beside him. "Just wanted to change my mood occasionally, feel the... youthful vitality, it seems not bad."

Snape's expression visibly darkened—

He was considerably older than Lin Du, and this remark clearly touched a sore spot.

He let out an almost inaudible snort from his nose. "Youthful vitality? I'd rather call it uncontrolled restlessness."

Just then, the whistle blew to start the match, and fourteen brooms carrying the players shot into the leaden sky.

The commentator Lee Jordan's excited voice, amplified by magic, echoed throughout the stadium.

"The match has begun! The Quaffle is immediately snatched by Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson—she's broken through Slytherin's defense—Oh! A Bludger! Slytherin's Beater Bole mercilessly sends the Bludger towards the Gryffindor Chasers! The scene is quite chaotic!"

They watched in silence for a while.

Just as Lin Du thought the conversation was over, Snape suddenly spoke:

"How long do you plan to stay at Hogwarts for this teaching post?"

"I don't know—maybe a year, maybe a few years," Lin Du replied nonchalantly. "But it's not entirely up to me. Perhaps by the end of the year, being able to pack my bags and leave safely will be considered lucky."

"Isn't that just a legend?" Snape's voice carried a clear sarcasm. "Even you believe that absurd curse?"

"A legend?" Lin Du chuckled. "More than thirty professors have rotated through this position before me. Do you expect me to attribute all of this to mere coincidence?"

His gaze remained fixed on the pitch. "As far as I know, most of those departing professors didn't have good endings. I suspect it has something to do with those Death Eaters who are still active."

Can't find the book title, maybe try searching for the author, perhaps the name has changed!

Snape's expression visibly stiffened for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line—

Having once been among the Death Eaters, he knew their methods better than anyone.

Lin Du keenly caught his reaction, the corner of his lips curling up.

"But if I really leave after just one year, you'd be the happiest, wouldn't you? After all, that would give you a chance to take over as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Snape's expression instantly froze, and he said dryly, "I don't think that."

But his eyes flickered involuntarily, clearly revealing his true thoughts.

"Slytherin scores! Oh... they have indeed gained some advantage with those particularly expensive brooms."

Lee Jordan's voice carried a distinct hint of sourness. "The score is currently thirty to zero! I must say, sometimes money can compensate for deficiencies in other areas. I'm referring to teamwork and true flying skills, of course."

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's stern voice came through the magical amplifier. "Focus on commentating the match!"

"Uh... Yes, Professor. Slytherin... is currently leading."

Lee Jordan reluctantly added, temporarily restraining himself.

Snape's lips curved upwards almost imperceptibly.

The match continued to be a close contest in the downpour.

Slytherin, with the superior performance of their Nimbus 2001s, continued to widen the score gap.

Snape's lips maintained a faint, almost imperceptible curve, clearly quite satisfied with the current score.

However, just when everyone thought the outcome was decided, the situation on the field suddenly reversed.

Harry made a sudden, unexpected dive, charging straight at Draco Malfoy in the pouring rain.

The entire audience held their breath.

"Merlin's beard! What is Potter doing?" Lee Jordan exclaimed.

Harry suddenly grabbed Malfoy by the ear and then fell heavily onto the muddy field, broom and all.

After a brief silence, Harry raised his hand from the mud—the Golden Snitch was gleaming between his fingers.

"The Golden Snitch! Potter caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan's cheers almost shook the entire stadium.

Deafening cheers erupted from the stands, and Gryffindor students hugged each other ecstatically.

Professor McGonagall stood up excitedly, a rare, brilliant smile on her face.

Snape's expression instantly turned so grim it looked like it could drip water.

"It seems," Lin Du said lightly, "that courage is sometimes more useful than money, isn't it?"

Snape spun around sharply, his black robes flapping violently like an annoyed bat. "Mind your own business, Lin Du."

He lowered his voice, each word squeezed out as if from between his teeth, "This is my final warning. Don't play those Dark Magic tricks in front of Dumbledore, unless you want to spend your next Christmas in Azkaban."

"Ah, speaking of which," Lin Du made a gesture of surrender, though a sly glint shone in his eyes, "I was actually just about to tell you about that."

"Tell me what?" Snape asked, clearly impatient. "Did Dumbledore finally decide to kick you out of Hogwarts?"

"No, we reached an understanding."

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