The Professor Is Casting a Spell

On the teachers' stand, many of the professors' eyes were drawn to the lively scene around Damon.

Watching Damon wave the enormous flag while all the Gryffindor students shouted behind him, Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

Seeing these young people so full of life was the greatest reward for him as headmaster.

Snape appeared expressionless, but the hollows beside his mouth deepened—Damon reminded him of someone who had also been immensely popular as a student.

One Potter was already irritating enough. Why had another one appeared? Perhaps he really should find an excuse to give the boy some extracurricular tutoring.

After all, Minerva and Flitwick had already done so. Judging by their endless praise, the boy was still finding his current coursework effortless.

He swore that if he found the chance, he would pass on all his Potions knowledge to him—in the harshest and strictest way possible!

As Madam Hooch blew the Silver Whistle with all her strength, fifteen Flying Broomsticks shot up from the ground and soared high into the sky.

The match had begun.

"Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson immediately seized the Bludger—that girl is such an outstanding Chaser, and she's very charming too—"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Lee Jordan was a friend of the Weasley twins. At that moment, under Professor McGonagall's close supervision, he was serving as the match commentator.

"Excuse me, excuse me, make way."

After watching for a while, Damon noticed that the giant Hagrid had also come over. Come to think of it, this was the first time he and Hagrid had formally met.

"Are you Damon? Harry mentioned you to me. He said you were the best wizard in the entire first year."

"He exaggerated, Hagrid." Damon politely greeted Hagrid. "Harry mentions you to me often as well. He says you're the elder he respects most."

"Really? He said that?"

Hagrid's eyes lit up, and he burst into hearty laughter.

His huge palm pounded Damon on the back again and again, making his body tremble slightly with every blow.

"Come visit my hut sometime. You're welcome anytime."

"If I get the chance, I will."

Damon smiled at Hagrid, though he was not particularly enthusiastic.

Other transmigrators might have been very interested in Hagrid's hut, which was full of treasures, but for Damon, anything that could be bought with Galleons was not a problem.

Suddenly, angry roars erupted from the stands—one of the Slytherin students deliberately rammed Harry. Harry's Flying Broomstick sharply veered off course and began spinning wildly in midair, nearly throwing him off.

"Foul!" The Gryffindors booed loudly.

"What a brutal sport—especially when you're playing with those Slytherin bastards who'll do anything to win."

Damon shook his head, privately marveling at how carefree the wizarding world was.

A sport so full of accidents, one that could break a student's bones at any moment, had no protective measures whatsoever.

It did not even have rigorous rules, yet it was openly played before such a huge crowd.

Physical injuries could be healed, but what about the injuries of the mind?

"Damon, what are you talking about? This is Quidditch! Everyone who gets to play considers it an honor. What's a little injury?

If it were me, as long as I could play and win once, I'd be willing to stay in the hospital for an entire semester!"

Ron rarely disagreed with Damon.

Damon's cheek twitched. So you get all the benefits, huh?

Hermione said nothing either. Her lively eyes looked Damon up and down, as though she could not understand why anyone in the world would dislike Quidditch.

Hagrid shook his head as well and said in his deep, rumbling voice:

"I heard Harry say you're good at dueling? In that case, you should be quite skilled at flying too. Aren't you planning to join your House's Quidditch team in your second year?"

"That depends—" Damon had just begun to answer when another accident occurred.

Harry's Nimbus 2000 suddenly began shaking violently, as though it might throw him off at any moment.

"Could something have gone wrong with the broom handle when Flint rammed him earlier?" Seamus whispered.

"Impossible," Hagrid said, his voice trembling slightly. "Nothing but powerful Dark Magic can interfere with a Flying Broomstick—children couldn't possibly cast that kind of magic on a Nimbus 2000."

"That's right. A professor is casting a spell."

Damon stood up, tossing an ordinary pebble in his hand.

Hearing that, Hermione snatched Hagrid's binoculars and looked toward the teachers' stand, crying out:

"It's Snape! He's casting a spell on Harry! We have to stop him!"

"Nonsense! Snape would never do such a thing!"

Hagrid shouted at Hermione, yet made no move at all. Sometimes, Damon truly did not know what these adult wizards had in their heads.

Ignoring their argument, he drew his wand with his right hand and flipped his left wrist, catching the pebble.

The next instant, the pebble in his hand began to change shape and lengthen.

In the blink of an eye, it turned into a tailless arrow.

An enormous amount of magic surged through his body. The place where he stood warped like noodles under the effects of the spreading magic.

"Kid? What are you doing?!"

Hagrid felt the vast, surging magic, and his bulb-sized eyes widened!

"Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa)!"

Damon did not answer Hagrid's question. Under his control, the arrow swiftly turned and locked onto Quirrell's position.

The simplest Levitation Charm, fueled by magic reserves comparable to Dumbledore's and the caster's unwavering determination, was about to unleash a terrifyingly astonishing speed!

Whoosh!

The tailless arrow became an arrow loosed from a bow, shooting toward Quirrell, who had been secretly casting his spell, at a speed nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye!

Crack!

As the arrow shattered, Quirrell's wand instantly exploded into fragments!

An uproar broke out.

The professors who had been watching the Quidditch match sprang to their feet in alarm, casting Shield Charms with wary expressions.

They had even thought someone had cast a blasting curse and missed, causing Quirrell's wand to be caught in the blast.

Only Dumbledore gave Damon's direction a meaningful glance before saying:

"My apologies, everyone. I've been researching a new spell recently, and it got a little out of control."

He calmed the situation down, then looked at the panicked Quirrell and said:

"My apologies, Professor Quirrell. I will compensate you with a new wand afterward, I promise."

He lowered his head and glanced up at Quirrell's expression, sighing inwardly.

Although he knew that Quirrell, who had sold his soul to Voldemort, no longer possessed any kindness, he still hoped that perhaps one day, Quirrell would hesitate and wish to turn back.

Now, however, it seemed he was destined to walk this dark path to the end.

"Harry! Harry!"

Cheers suddenly erupted from the field. Once the interference ended, Harry quickly found the Golden Snitch and brought the match to an end—Gryffindor won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

After soothing the professors, Dumbledore looked at Harry, surrounded by the players on the field, then at the dazzling Damon in the spectator stands. His expression became inscrutable.

It seemed—

It was time to use that treasure to see the true hearts of these two boys.