Fly High!

Amidst the gasps, Harry's broom twitched and writhed wildly, climbing higher and higher, inch by inch.

"Look! Is Harry trying to show us some fancy move? Or has he spotted the Golden Snitch?!" the commentator's voice rang out in shock.

Hearing this, the Gryffindor students let out a few excited cheers.

The Slytherin students, however, felt their hearts tighten, frowning as they strained their eyes to see what Gryffindor's secret weapon was up to.

But only Glenn, under the effect of Revelio, could see the truth—Harry had lost control.

At the front end of his Flying Broomstick's wooden handle, two Magic Ropes—one gray, one black—were yanking it tight...

The force was so great that the broom began to buck and spin wildly, and Harry could barely hold on, let alone stay seated.

"Does Quidditch have a tug-of-war round? That's not in the rules!" Glenn, watching his first Quidditch match, pondered.

Well, probably not. Most likely just a Hogwarts specialty.

Because following the two Magic Ropes, he could see their sources—Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell.

"Could it be they find Quidditch too boring and want to spice things up?" Glenn muttered, stroking his chin.

Of course, that was a joke.

After all, falling from such a height was no laughing matter.

Using such unsafe tactics on defenseless students wasn't exactly amusing.

So another question arose: which of the two was casting the curse on Harry?

The reason he said "one of them" was that Harry was still barely keeping his balance.

If a Potions professor and a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor planned to gang up on a first-year eleven-year-old, Harry wouldn't be on the Quidditch pitch right now—he'd be flying out of Hogwarts at breakneck speed.

"Oh my god?! Harry looks like he's about to fall from the sky!"

Another round of gasps, and Harry was flung off the wildly thrashing broom.

But he wasn't thrown clear—just as he was about to fall, he grabbed the broom handle with his left hand, dangling in midair.

Such an unusual sight made some people realize something was wrong.

But time was short, too sudden, and the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, who had the authority to call a timeout, clung to a sliver of hope, thinking it was just a rookie mistake from Harry.

Hermione and Ron, who knew him better, reacted almost instantly, and almost instantly turned their gaze to Professor Snape, whom they usually saw as Harry's biggest threat.

From the way they stood up and started walking over, it was clear they believed Snape had rigged things to help Slytherin win.

Of course, they couldn't be blamed for thinking that.

After all, as Slytherin's head, Professor Snape's motive made sense.

But from a subjective standpoint, Glenn didn't think Snape was the one casting the curse.

To him, studying dark magic alone didn't make someone a dark wizard—sometimes, academic pursuits inevitably touched on the dark side.

Only those whose hearts were consumed by greed, who disregarded life, and who abused dark magic would be marked as "Red" by Revelio.

And while Professor Quirrell usually seemed harmless enough, the red on the Back of the Head was always unsettling.

So, weighing the objective conditions and subjective factors, Glenn made a decision.

He wouldn't bother figuring out who cast the curse—that was the headmaster's job.

Instead, he planned to give both professors a little shock.

"Excuse me... excuse me..."

In the Gryffindor stands, Hermione pushed through the crowd without stopping.

Ron followed behind, but his eyes were locked on Harry, still struggling in the air.

Just moments ago, after noticing something was wrong with Harry, they'd immediately aimed their Telescopes at Snape.

And as they'd suspected, Snape, standing on the Slytherin platform, was staring intently at Harry, muttering silently—it looked exactly like he was chanting a curse.

When Harry lurched again high in the air, Ron's heart jolted.

"We need to hurry, Hermione. Harry can't hold on much longer."

"I know... excuse me." Hermione squeezed through the crowd with difficulty.

Her plan was simple: since Snape was trying to make Harry fall by repeating some spell, they just needed to stop him from chanting.

And coincidentally, just a few days ago in the library, she and Glenn had discussed a spell that could set clothes on fire from a distance.

If she could get close enough, Hermione could silently ignite Snape's robes, interrupting his casting.

A nice idea, but reality was—there were way too many students watching Quidditch!

"Can we get to Glenn? He's over in Slytherin, closer—maybe he's noticed Snape..." Ron said.

Hermione didn't answer, just kept pushing forward.

She had no doubt that Glenn would be willing to help.

But without any way to contact him, discovering that Snape was harming Harry was no simple matter.

After all, Glenn was a Slytherin, and Snape treated his Slytherin students fairly well.

Getting Glenn to suspect Professor Snape the moment something happened to Harry, the way they did—that was no easy task.

Rather than telling Glenn and asking him to go against his own Head of House, it was better for them to handle it themselves. That way, at least, there would be less psychological burden.

With this thought in mind, she and Ron finally reached a less crowded area and hurried along the seats.

Seeing Professor Quirrell before them, pale-faced and muttering to himself, Hermione had no time to explain anything. She intended to simply rush past him.

But unexpectedly, Professor Quirrell seemed even more pressed for time than they were.

At his own seat, Professor Quirrell suddenly stood bolt upright, and the next moment, he shot straight up into the air!

"Oh, Merlin's trousers..."

The sight before them made both Hermione and Ron freeze in their tracks.

Watching Professor Quirrell rise like a rocket, his face twisted in terror, they exchanged a glance and saw the shock mirrored in each other's eyes.

What was Professor Quirrell doing? Flying up to save Harry?

"...Uh, Professor Quirrell must have his reasons. We should hurry—we need to stop Snape." Hermione snapped back to reality and urged.

But at these words, Ron stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.

Stop Snape?

Following Ron's gaze, Hermione was stunned to find that Snape was no longer standing in the stands.

"How are we supposed to stop him? Fly up into the sky like him?"

Harry, still struggling on the Flying Broomstick, suddenly felt the broom return to normal.

He could climb back onto the broom handle!

Just as Harry was thinking this with relief, suddenly, with a whoosh—

Two professors were now level with him: a startled Snape and a terrified Quirrell.

The three of them stared at each other for a moment, and Harry found it deeply bizarre.

At that instant, he thought he must be dreaming—that the real him was still lying in bed.