The weather had been getting colder recently, but the atmosphere at school was quietly heating up—because the Quidditch season had begun.
Michael is a devoted Quidditch fan. He even attended last year's Quidditch World Cup, which lasted a full five days and nights.
He recounted seven times how the Scottish team narrowly missed victory and how the Canadian team clinched the championship in a thrilling manner.
Thanks to his endless explanations, even Wade had become familiar with many famous teams, like Germany's Heidelberg Harriers, Bulgaria's Vratsa Vultures, the Fitchburg Finches from America, and the once-glorious Chudley Cannons, among others.
Michael also explained various Quidditch strategies, like the Hawkshead Attacking Formation and the Plumpton Pass.
However, despite knowing all about the difficult maneuvers and impressive feats of Quidditch, whenever Michael got on a broomstick himself, it was as if he was stepping on a landmine.
His whole body would tense up, and he'd move cautiously, barely faster than a galloping foal, and he never flew more than ten meters off the ground.
Wade suspected that even in their second year, when they would be allowed to bring broomsticks to school, Michael would still end up climbing the stairs back to the dormitory—since the height of the Ravenclaw Tower was several times more than ten meters.
Because Michael couldn't help but talk about Quidditch, and usually about things Wade neither understood nor was interested in, Wade had recently started avoiding him.
Perhaps after the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff match, Michael might finally calm down a little.
Hermione had also become busier lately, with a few more books on Quidditch appearing on her desk—since Harry was about to participate in his first-ever match, he was too nervous to even eat properly.
Their relationship had improved recently, and Hermione's way of supporting her friend was to try to find helpful information from books.
Wade thought Michael and Hermione could talk more to each other; one loved to explain, and the other was eager to listen—they are practically a perfect match.
Unfortunately, the schedules of their two houses didn't always align, so most of the time Wade was still the one stuck hearing the "Quidditch recap broadcast."
But recently, Padma had joined in, and whenever she and Michael were deep in conversation, Wade could finally enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.
Hogwarts Castle is a massive complex, and finding a secluded corner is very easy.
Wade had discovered an empty classroom near the library on the sixth floor. From the window, you could climb out onto a small platform. It was a secret spot Wade had recently found.
The platform was surrounded by taller buildings, making it hidden and sheltered from the wind. No one could see it from any window, and it had a great view—you could see the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
Tiny figures were flying back and forth over the Quidditch pitch, looking like busy bees from afar. Judging by the flashes of gold and red, the Gryffindor team should be practicing.
Speaking of which, Hermione had mentioned something yesterday in the Umbrella Room—
Gryffindor's team captain, Wood, had recently lost his temper in the common room. He had previously instructed the entire house to keep Harry Potter's joining the team a secret, wanting to use it as a secret weapon.
But now it seemed like the whole school knew about it. Wood was convinced someone had leaked the information, and he had been glaring at the Gryffindor students daily, trying to find the "spy."
In the process, he ended up making several girls cry—because they were dating students from other houses.
But in truth, this matter was quite obvious. The Gryffindor team trained three times a week, no matter how bad the weather. Every time, Harry Potter would suddenly disappear and then reappear, exhausted, after practice.
After this happened a few times, anyone could guess that he had been exceptionally allowed to join the Gryffindor team. Besides, they flew so high that at least one or two sharp-eyed students would recognize him.
Wade stared at the Quidditch pitch in the distance for a while. The flying figures seemed chaotic; he couldn't make out any formations like the "Double Eight Loop" or "Hawkshead Attacking Formation."
He shook his head, not sure if his observation skills were lacking or if the players were simply not up to par.
In comparison, alchemy was much more interesting.
With a wave of his wand, several small blue fireballs appeared out of thin air, radiating warmth.
Wade took out On the Diversity of Species, a book he had borrowed from the library, and turned a stone pillar on the platform into a cushion. Leaning against the wall, he began reading.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly heard footsteps. At first, Wade didn't pay attention, but after reading a couple more lines, a jolt of realization hit him.
There was a faint smell of garlic in the air.
Before his mind could fully react, Wade instinctively canceled the fire magic and the Transfiguration spell. Silently and swiftly, he stood up and pressed himself against the wall, hiding behind a protruding brick.
"What are you looking at..."
A sharp voice spoke, soft but laced with a dark, irritable tone, as if it were whispered right beside his ear.
For a moment, Wade thought he had been spotted, and that the words were directed at him. But when he hesitated, another timid voice responded—
"It's Harry Potter, master," the voice said. "He's practicing Quidditch with his teammates on the pitch."
Wade immediately understood. It was Quirrell and the Voldemort attachment on the back of his head—they are just on the other side of the wall!
He held his breath and instinctively shrank back further, not daring to make the slightest sound.
"—Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed the name with bitter hatred and whispered. "Yes, the Boy Who Lived... the savior of the wizarding world... While I was reduced to a mere shadow, he stood on my corpse and became a star, didn't he? I suppose Dumbledore has great hopes for him!"
Quirrell was likely feeling the same as Wade, fearful and too scared to speak.
"Kill him, Quirrell," Voldemort ordered coldly. "Kill him when he's in the spotlight!"
"But, but Master—with Dumbledore here, I can't do anything —you said it yourself, we must never draw Dumbledore's attention—" Quirrell stammered, clearly terrified.
"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? Do you dare defy my orders?!"
Voldemort did something, and Quirrell immediately let out a groan of pain.
"No—I wouldn't dare—I obey—I obey—Master, I will follow any order—please spare me—" Quirrell howled in a low voice, pleading and writhing on the ground.
But Voldemort didn't stop immediately. The torment continued for a while longer before Voldemort finally "mercifully" relented.
"Use your brain, fool," Voldemort said maliciously.
"He's going to participate in a Quidditch match… flying fifty meters in the air… even if he falls off his broom, no one would suspect a stuttering coward like you.
They'll just think it was his own lack of skill. What's so surprising if a kid who hasn't even mastered a few spells falls to his death?"
"Yes—yes—I understand—I'll do it—" Quirrell whimpered, lying on the ground with tears streaming down his face.
It was only after a long while that Wade heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor get up, rustling as he straightened his clothes, probably wiping away his tears as well, before dragging his heavy steps away.
Only then did Wade let out a long breath, realizing his back was drenched in cold sweat.
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