Quidditch Match

"By Merlin's magic, what does that have to do with you, Mr. Order? Now, tell me what happened with Quirrell."

Snape pressed down on Breeze's shoulder, staring at him coldly as he waited for an answer.

"I saw you that day too, Head of House, on Halloween."

At the mention of Halloween, Snape couldn't help but think of how Breeze had been staying in The Owlery, causing him and several other professors quite a search, not to mention the lectures he'd received from his colleagues over the incident.

Before Snape could grow any angrier, Breeze said, "I was coming down from The Owlery that day, intending to return Professor Quirrell's notes to him on the third floor. But while passing the fourth floor, I noticed him sneaking toward the Forbidden Corridor. After you arrived, he quickly hid in a corner, and you went inside."

"He came out of the corner shortly after and didn't go near the Forbidden Corridor again, but I heard him talking about a master and the Sorcerer's Stone. Naturally, I began to wonder if there was something related to the Sorcerer's Stone inside that restricted area."

Like the trapdoor beneath the three-headed dog, which Breeze had seen just moments ago—though he certainly couldn't mention that now while Snape still had him in his grip.

"Master..." Snape's face paled, though he quickly masked it.

"Hmph, I will clarify this with Dumbledore. As for you trespassing in the Forbidden Corridor..."

Breeze's brow twitched; he didn't want to lose house points, especially not under his own Head of House.

"You will come to my office to properly process slugs. The Quidditch match brings more than just reckless play to these little trolls; it brings colds. I require a large quantity of slugs for potion-making, and you are well aware of that."

Breeze's expression soured.

"Yes, I understand."

"Hmph, follow me to the pitch now. Stay away from here in the future, forget what you heard, and don't cause me any trouble!"

"Remember, you are not a foolish lion, Order."

"Of course, I am a little snake who knows how to protect himself."

Breeze followed Snape's lead; he had no desire to continue provoking him. Snape's mind was likely already preoccupied with Quirrell, and the rest was their own business. Breeze just needed to stay quiet for a while.

It was a pity, however, that his daily time for the Forbidden Section would be significantly reduced.

"Now, hand over your wand. Do not leave my sight today."

Escorted by Snape to the Quidditch pitch, Breeze found a random spot to sit, keeping as far away from Snape as possible while remaining within his line of sight. Snape had sat down directly behind Quirrell, and Breeze couldn't fathom how he endured that smell of garlic... perhaps some of the potions he brewed were even worse.

"Oh!" With a gasp, the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams officially entered the pitch. Thanks to Snape's bat-like stride, Breeze hadn't wasted a single second.

"Why didn't I think to bring a book to explore the fourth floor? That was a miscalculation. I won't be so complacent again; life always holds surprises."

Breeze pursed his lips, watching the silver-green and red-gold collide as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and tossed the Quaffle into the air, officially starting the match.

High up in the stands, a Gryffindor commentator began his non-stop narration, introducing the players—especially those who had made the team as first-years. But being a Gryffindor, he had nothing kind to say about the Slytherins; for instance, he claimed that flashy Malfoy was surely trying to blind the Gryffindor team with his platinum-blonde hair.

Malfoy and Harry were both Seekers, which was a recipe for disaster. The two were already aggressively colliding with one another, even though the Golden Snitch hadn't yet appeared.

The match would only end when the Golden Snitch was caught, earning the capturing team 150 points.

Hermione was darting about on her broom, seizing every opportunity to snatch the Quaffle, while the Beaters from both teams constantly swatted away the Bludgers that were careening everywhere, protecting their players and aiming them at the opposition.

"Oh! The Weasley twins hit the opposing Beater with a Bludger... brilliant! That's Granger of Gryffindor, she's scored!"

"Hmph!" The Slytherins couldn't stand losing; they exchanged glances, all wearing the same sinister smiles.

The rest of the match was much more interesting—at least, Breeze didn't find it boring.

"That's a foul! Those Slytherin scoundrels..."

The Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, who was currently playing as a Beater, had nearly knocked Harry off his broom.

"Lee Jordan!" Professor McGonagall cut off Jordan's angry outburst. Though she was furious herself, she couldn't lose her temper now; the match wasn't over yet.

"Oh, right. That should have been a whistle, but then again, Quidditch has over seven hundred ways to commit a foul!"

"Oh, look!"

The Golden Snitch had appeared!

The moment it surfaced, Malfoy dove for it on his broom, and Harry was hot on his heels, refusing to be outdone.

The Beaters from both sides immediately increased their intensity, firing Bludgers at the two boys.

Just as Harry dodged a spinning Bludger that grazed his scalp, his broomstick began to shake violently, forcing him to stop and struggle to steady it.

Harry bounced on the broom, his palms chafed raw.

"Oh!" The young wizards in the stands gasped as they watched Harry nearly fall from the sky.

Harry gripped the handle of his broom with both hands, clamping his knees tight. Facing the terror of falling from a hundred meters up, he nearly lost his hold.

While Harry was in danger, Malfoy had already pursued the Golden Snitch, but just as he was about to grab it, the Snitch vanished and reappeared on the other side of the pitch.

"Oh, blast it!" Malfoy cursed and immediately banked to chase after it again.

By all accounts, a Nimbus 2000 shouldn't be malfunctioning like this.

Breeze frowned, immediately scanning his surroundings. This kind of situation suggested someone was up to no good.

Snape?

Breeze could not believe his eyes. Had Snape truly become so brazen that he would resort to casting curses against Harry Potter in front of a full crowd just to prevent him from winning the championship?

Over the past few months, everyone had come to understand that Snape was targeting Harry Potter.

"This is honestly so cool... wait, what?"

Before Breeze could finish his sentence, he saw Ron Weasley notice Snape's movements as well. Ron was currently sprinting toward the professor, and Breeze, unwilling to miss a single second, stared intently, waiting to see what might happen next.

"No, it's not Snape." Just as Breeze was waiting for the show to unfold, he noticed Quirrell behind Snape also chanting something, his eyes locked firmly onto Harry.

"Are both of them trying to kill Potter?"

At that moment, Ron shoved Snape hard from behind, interrupting his incantation. Before Snape could react, Ron stumbled away to the side.

"It's Quirrell who is casting the curse."

Harry's broom became even more erratic after Snape's spell was broken. Harry could no longer hold on; he plummeted, and his broom flew wildly out of control toward the stands.

"Ah!"

Breeze heard the scream beside him and felt his blood run cold. The broom was heading straight for him, but his wand had been taken by Snape!

Damn it!

Summoning every ounce of his magic, Breeze cast a wandless spell with all his might: "Impedimenta!"

A transparent barrier instantly unfolded in front of Breeze. The broom slammed into it, and Breeze could feel the barrier holding the broom back, but it wouldn't last long—he had to move.

Just then, he felt a contract deep within his soul tremble.

It was the faint contract Quirrell had placed upon him earlier.

The contract was mutual; if one side provided help, the other was required to provide the same in return. As the assistance deepened, the binding force of the contract grew stronger.

Breeze had chosen not to act on it previously to avoid alerting the enemy, but Quirrell had grown impatient—perhaps because Breeze had used Snape to return the notebook.

Breeze had underestimated Quirrell's ruthlessness. Quirrell was nothing short of a madman, willing to kill him over a single notebook.

Very well, then what if the contract were reversed?

"Argh!" Breeze gritted his teeth. The broom, having broken through the barrier, slammed violently into his waist. The pain was so intense it nearly brought him to tears. He had injured this same spot during his last Flying Class; he felt like he was cursed to have bad luck with brooms. He didn't need to look to know it was worse than last time—he couldn't even stand up.

But he had achieved his goal. Quirrell, seeing that Breeze hadn't died, felt a sudden, dull ache in his mind and immediately fled the pitch, dodging through the crowd.

"Blood! Someone help!"

Amidst the chaos in the stands, McGonagall, who had just caught Harry with a Levitation Charm, turned pale. She hurriedly dropped Harry onto the grass and rushed over, while many young wizards close to Breeze crowded around him.

Harry, lying on the grass, spat out the Golden Snitch, feeling nauseated; he had accidentally swallowed it while in the air.

"Move aside, quickly!" McGonagall pushed through the students, followed by the surrounding Quidditch players. Snape limped over, a flicker of rare remorse crossing his face, though he was also scanning the area for someone.

Many professors approached as well, with Sprout shouting, "Move back, give him some space!"

"Oh!" McGonagall pulled back Breeze's robes and gasped at the sight of his blood-soaked waist. She picked up the fallen broom nearby.

"Professor Snape, I expect you to investigate who did this!" McGonagall said with a livid expression before turning to the Quidditch players walking over.

"Wood, take Order to the Hospital Wing immediately."

Upon receiving the order, Wood hurriedly scooped up Breeze, mounted his broom, and flew toward Hogwarts Castle—the first time he had ever flown inside the building.

Breeze was in too much pain to speak, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. He would remember this grudge; even if Quirrell were the Dark Lord reborn, he wouldn't be able to save himself!

As Breeze was whisked away to the Hospital Wing, the Quidditch match came to an abrupt and bizarre end. Gryffindor had won, all because Harry Potter had swallowed the Golden Snitch in mid-air—a story that would surely go down in history as a headline-grabbing event.

Even professional teams would likely be stunned for a few seconds upon hearing it.

A heavy atmosphere hung over Slytherin, especially for Malfoy. He had finally had his first real chance to catch the Golden Snitch, but he had let his guard down when Harry's broom went out of control.

No one would say it to his face—after all, he was a Malfoy—but behind his back, things were uncertain. At the very least, whether he would be allowed to play in the next match was another matter entirely.

Elsewhere, Hermione, who had just left the pitch, didn't even wait to change her clothes before running toward the Hospital Wing. However, the news she received was that Breeze needed complete rest. If he hadn't cast that wandless Impediment Jinx, he likely would have been snapped in two on the spot; the broom had been under a severe loss of control, and there were even traces of Dark Magic!