Gifting You the Mad Ramblings of a Demigod

A gasp rippled through the stands as Harley fell from her broomstick, and many people stood up in alarm.

Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall drew their wands at almost the same moment, casting two slowing charms without a second of hesitation.

However, both spells were blocked by the large black cocoon Harley had released, seemingly having no effect.

Fortunately, the black cocoon itself possessed a cushioning and deceleration effect, allowing her to land on the ground smoothly.

The cocoon vanished quickly. At this moment, the two heads of house finally saw clearly that the material of that black layer was Harley's own hair.

At the same time, Harley held her hand high, where a Golden Snitch was struggling incessantly.

A wave of cheers erupted across the field; almost everyone believed that Harley had chosen to jump off her broom to secure the Golden Snitch without any suspense.

After all, the Slytherin Seeker had been right next to her, and if Harley had simply accelerated, she would surely have drawn his attention.

In such close quarters, Harley's petite frame could not compete with that heavy tank of a Slytherin, so there was a high probability she would have missed the Golden Snitch.

Thus, people automatically filled in the blanks, assuming that to ensure Gryffindor's absolute victory, Harley had chosen to disregard her own safety and leap from her broom to catch the Snitch.

Consequently, the Gryffindors went even wilder. The three Chasers of the Gryffindor Quidditch team rushed over and gave Harley a fierce hug.

The other team members and the spectators in the stands also crowded around, celebrating Harley's first victory.

Only Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall did not look particularly pleased.

As the only two heads of house present who were also acknowledged masters of magic, they could both see that a dark magic spell had been cast on Harley's broom at that moment, which was why she had chosen to jump.

Professor Snape flicked his wand, and invisible ropes appeared, pulling Harley's broom down from mid-air.

He exchanged a glance with Professor McGonagall, and she did not ask for the broom again.

After all, due to certain past experiences, Professor Snape's attainments in dark magic far exceeded those of Professor McGonagall, making him better suited to examine it.

Moreover, Professor Snape was very fond of Harley, so it was impossible that he would tamper with the broom or be negligent in his duties.

After the match, Harley returned to the common room with the team celebrating their first win, but she soon excused herself, claiming she was too exhausted, and headed to her dormitory.

Hermione wanted to follow her out of concern, but she was turned away by Harley's excuse that she wanted to lie down and be alone for a while.

Back in her room, Harley did not immediately lie on the bed; instead, she locked the door and took a large number of small bottles and other tools from her trunk.

The bottles were filled with dark-colored ointments and potions, brimming with spirituality and magic.

Harley quickly bit her index finger, squeezed out a significant amount of blood filled with spirituality, and placed it into a pure black bowl.

After adding Poison Hemlock juice and other essential oils to erase the occult connection between herself and the blood, Harley added various hydrosols and quickly used the mixture to draw various symbols.

Once she finished, a flash of malice appeared in Harley's eyes.

"It's not over yet," Harley muttered to herself, then took out a small box.

After undoing the layers of ritual magic on the box, a frantic will emerged.

Harley watched the box cautiously, then submerged the entire thing into the remaining liquid in the bowl.

"Connect!"

A word in Giant Language spilled from Harley's lips. Instantly, the frantic aura on the box surged, and streaks of bright red light flickered.

Harley felt her spirituality being consumed frantically, and when the consumption exceeded one-third, she decisively terminated the ritual and resealed the small box.

"He must be in a lot of pain, bearing so much of that frantic will; a fragile soul would likely have suffered a direct, heavy blow." A cold sneer curled the corner of Harley's mouth.

Upon realizing that someone had used dark magic to curse her broom and indirectly harm her, Harley had immediately used her blood to mark that person in reverse and launched a curse attack targeting their soul.

Harley had originally only intended to issue a warning; after all, in front of such a large crowd, the attacker surely wouldn't dare to go too far.

As long as he couldn't counterattack in the short term, Harley could calmly erase the connection between them to prevent the unknown attacker from launching a follow-up strike through her own attack.

But to Harley's surprise, the attacker's soul was so fragile that her counterattack hadn't met with even a shred of decent resistance!

So, after returning, Harley immediately chose to attack the opponent's soul directly, aiming to deal them another heavy blow.

However, considering that some time had passed since her last attack, the attacker might have prepared defenses.

Therefore, Harley did not attack directly, but instead used the soul fragment that carried the frantic will generated when she broke through to demigod status.

Harley had already used some blood during her initial counterattack, and that trace of blood still existed in the occult sense.

So this time, Harley released more blood, erased its occult connection to her main body, and allowed the blood to conduct the madness carried by the soul fragment in the box to attack the assailant.

"A gift of the frantic whispers from when I was a demigod. Although the connection time is short, the power isn't too weak."

"I hope that fragile soul doesn't go completely insane." Harley thought to herself while happily cleaning up the traces of the ritual.

In the office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Quirrell was frantically chugging bottle after bottle of potion.

His signature turban, which covered almost his entire head, had been removed and tossed onto the bed.

And on the back of Professor Quirrell's head, where there should have been a thick growth of hair, grew a face—a snake-like face.

That face was hideous and terrifying, white without a hint of blood, forming a sharp contrast with the blood-red, snake-like pupils.

The most striking feature of this face was that it had no nose, only two thin, snake-like slits for nostrils.

At this moment, the face was roaring frantically: "You are an idiot! A waste! A Muggle! A Squib!"

You haven't done a single thing I asked you to do properly!

Breaking into Gringotts was a complete waste of time; you didn't even catch a glimpse of the Philosopher's Stone, and you wasted so much of my power!

You still haven't figured out all the defenses, and you couldn't even defeat a single dog!

And now, when I sent you to attack a first-year Witch, you actually failed and suffered a magical backlash!

I have never seen such an incompetent Death Eater!

Professor Quirrell drank his Potion rapidly, trembling as he listened to the curses of Voldemort, not daring to talk back or even let a disrespectful thought cross his mind.

After all, Voldemort was currently monitoring Quirrell's mind, and any sign of disrespect could be detected.

After that frantic verbal assault, even Voldemort couldn't help but feel a hint of fatigue.

The previous "magical backlash" had wounded his soul, causing Voldemort's already fragile soul fragment to endure even greater agony.

Although Voldemort occasionally felt puzzled as to why such an ordinary gaze could injure his soul when it backfired.

However, he didn't dwell on it, simply assuming that Quirrell was too pathetic to even cast such a simple spell correctly.