Secret

The weather had grown colder and colder lately, but the atmosphere at school had quietly heated up—because the Quidditch season had begun.

Michael was a devoted Quidditch fan. Last year, he had even watched the Quidditch World Cup in person—a match that had lasted five days and five nights. Michael had recounted no fewer than seven times how Scotland Team had narrowly missed victory and how Canada Team had thrillingly claimed the championship.

Thanks to his endless explanations, even Wade had become familiar with many famous teams, such as Germany's Heidelberg Harriers, Bulgaria's Vratsa Vultures, the United States' Fitchburg Finches, and the Chudley Cannons, whose glory had long faded. There were also all sorts of Quidditch maneuvers, such as the Hawkshead Attacking Formation and the Plumpton Pass.

But although Michael could rattle off every difficult Quidditch move and spectacular play on the field, the moment he mounted a broomstick, he acted as though he had stepped on a landmine. His whole body tensed, he moved with excessive caution, and he flew only slightly faster than a running pony. He would never rise higher than ten meters.

Wade had always suspected that even in their second year, when they could bring Flying Broomsticks into school, Michael would still have to climb the stairs back to the Dormitory—because Ravenclaw Tower was several times taller than ten meters.

Because Michael could never stop talking about Quidditch, and the things he talked about were all things Wade neither understood nor cared about, Wade had begun avoiding him lately. Perhaps Michael would return to normal only after Ravenclaw's match against Hufflepuff was over.

Hermione had become busier lately as well. Several books related to Quidditch had appeared on her desk—because Harry was about to take part in the first match of his life, and he was so nervous he could barely eat. The relationship between the two had begun to improve recently, and Hermione's way of caring for a friend was to work hard to find ways to help him in books.

Wade felt that Michael could talk to Hermione more. One loved to talk, while the other was happy to listen; they could not have been more suitable. Unfortunately, the schedules of the two Houses did not completely align, so Wade was still the one forced to receive the "Quidditch Match Recap Broadcast" most of the time. Recently, though, there was Padma as well. Whenever she and Michael got into a lively discussion, Wade could finally enjoy some peace and quiet.

Hogwarts Castle was an enormous complex, and finding an empty corner here could not have been easier. Wade had found an unused classroom on the sixth floor near the library. Climbing out through its window led to a small platform, a secret spot Wade had discovered recently. Taller buildings shielded the platform from all sides. It was hidden and sheltered from the wind, impossible for anyone to spot from another window, and it also offered an excellent view—of the distant Quidditch Pitch and the Forbidden Forest.

Several tiny figures were darting and weaving through the sky above the Quidditch Pitch. From afar, they looked like a few industrious bees. Judging from the flashes of gold and red, it was probably the Gryffindor Team training.

Speaking of which, Hermione had mentioned something in the Umbrella Room yesterday—Wood, the Gryffindor Team captain, had lost his temper in the Common Room recently. He had previously ordered the entire House to keep Harry Potter joining the team a secret, intending to use it as a secret weapon, but now it seemed that the whole school already knew. Wood was convinced that someone had leaked the secret. Every day, he glared sharply at the little Lions, trying to find the "spy," and ended up making several girls cry—because they were dating students from other Houses.

But the truth was obvious. The Gryffindor Team trained three times a week and never took breaks, no matter how terrible the weather was. Whenever that happened, Harry Potter would suddenly vanish, only to reappear exhausted from head to toe after training ended. After it happened several times, anyone would have guessed that he had exceptionally joined the Gryffindor Team. Besides, they flew so high that there were always one or two sharp-eyed students who recognized them.

Wade watched the distant pitch for a while. The flying figures looked like a complete mess, and he could not make out anything like a Figure-Eight Orbit or a Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Shaking his head, he did not know whether his own eye for it was poor or the players over there simply lacked skill.

Compared to that, Alchemy was far more interesting.

With a wave of his Wand, several small blue fireballs appeared out of thin air, radiating waves of warmth. Wade took out On the Diversity of Species, which he had borrowed from the library, from his schoolbag. Then he Transfigured the Stone Pillars on the platform into a cushion and sat against the wall to read.

He did not know how much time had passed when he suddenly heard footsteps. Wade did not pay them any attention at first, but after reading two more lines, his heart suddenly skipped a beat.

A faint stench of garlic drifted through the air.

Before his mind could react, Wade instinctively canceled his Fire Magic and Transfiguration. He rose silently and with astonishing speed, pressing himself against the wall behind a bulging brick.

"What are you looking at..."

A shrill voice was speaking. It was very soft, yet it carried a gloomy, irritable edge, as if it were speaking right beside his ear.

Wade nearly thought they had spotted him before, and that the question had been directed at him. Fortunately, after he hesitated for a moment, another timid voice answered—

"It's Harry Potter, Master," the voice said. "He's training on the Quidditch Pitch with his teammates."

Wade immediately understood. It was Quirrell and the Voldemort hanging from the back of his head—they were right on the other side of the wall from him!

He held his breath and instinctively shrank back even farther, not daring to make the slightest sound.

"—Harry Potter?" Voldemort repeated the name resentfully, whispering, "Yes, The Boy Who Lived... the Savior of the Wizarding World... While I was reduced to a wandering soul, nothing more than a shadow, he stepped over my corpse and became a great star, did he? I suppose Dumbledore must have great hopes for him!"

Quirrell was probably feeling much the same way as Wade. He cowered silently, not daring to speak.

"Kill him! Quirrell." Voldemort ordered coldly. "Kill him when he is the Center of Attention!"

"But, but Master—Dumbledore is there. I can't do anything—you said we must never draw Dumbledore's attention—" Quirrell stammered, sounding terrified.

"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? You dare defy my orders?!"

Wade did not know what Voldemort had done, but Quirrell immediately let out a pained groan.

"No—I wouldn't dare—I obey—I obey—Master, I will obey any order you give—I beg you, spare me—" Quirrell rasped in a low voice, pleading as he rolled about on the ground.

But Voldemort did not stop immediately. The torture continued for a while before Voldemort finally "mercifully" spared him.

"Use your brain, idiot." Voldemort finally said maliciously. "He is going to play in a Quidditch match... flying fifty meters in the air... Even if he falls off his broomstick, no one will suspect a coward like you who can barely speak properly. They'll only think his skills were lacking—what would be strange about a brat who has barely mastered any Spells falling to his death?"

"Yes—yes—I understand—I'll do it—" Quirrell said, sprawled on the ground with tears and snot streaming down his face, trembling.

Only after a long while did Wade hear the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor climb up from the floor, rustle as he straightened his clothes, and presumably wipe away his tears before dragging his heavy steps away.

Only then did Wade let out a long breath. Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.