At that moment, on the Quidditch field, Harry's broomstick was jerking and spinning wildly, gradually pulling him away from the game.
"I really don't know what Harry's trying to do," Hagrid muttered from the stands, peering intently through his binoculars. "If I didn't know him better, I'd think he can't control his broomstick… but that can't be it."
Hagrid couldn't grasp the seriousness of the situation and assumed Harry was employing some special tactic.
But suddenly, everyone in the stands fixed their gaze on Harry. They saw his Nimbus 2000 begin to roll and spin, leaving Harry barely able to hold on.
The broom jerked violently again, causing Harry to dangle dangerously as he clung to the handle with one hand, suspended in mid-air.
"Did something go wrong when Flint rammed him earlier?" Seamus muttered from the stands.
"Impossible," said Hagrid, his voice slightly trembling. "Except for powerful Dark magic, nothing can interfere with a flying broomstick, especially not a Nimbus 2000. A child couldn't possibly cast such magic."
Hagrid's words seemed to spark an idea in Hermione's mind. She grabbed the binoculars from Hagrid, but instead of looking up at Harry, she began scanning the crowd.
"What are you doing?" Ron exclaimed, panic in his voice. Harry's precarious situation seemed to spell doom for Gryffindor's chances.
"I've figured it out," Hermione gasped. "It's Professor Snape! Look!"
Ron grabbed the binoculars and saw Snape standing in the middle of the stands ahead. He was staring at Harry and muttering under his breath.
"He's bewitching the broom!" Hermione exclaimed to Ron and Irina.
Ron began hopping in agitation. "Then what do we do?"
"Leave it to me!" Hermione declared. She turned toward the teachers' box, intending to stop Snape.
But before she could move, Irina stopped her, pointing out, "Wait, Hermione—look over there!"
Hermione turned to where Irina was pointing and gasped. "That's... Professor Quirrell?!"
She couldn't believe it. In her mind, Quirrell was timid, even stuttering in class, and hardly seemed capable of using Dark magic on Harry. Moreover, Quirrell didn't share Snape's history of animosity toward Harry.
Irina nodded grimly. "Yes, not just Snape. Look carefully—Quirrell's also staring at Harry and appears to be chanting a spell."
Before Irina could finish explaining, Ron cut in with his own analysis. "I know! Snape's definitely using Dark magic on Harry, and Quirrell, being the nice guy he is, must be counter-cursing to save him in secret! He's a hero!"
Irina facepalmed. "Amazing deduction, Ron. Please don't do it again."
She stopped Hermione, who had been convinced by Ron's theory and was about to confront Snape. "Hermione, let me handle it. My magic is more advanced."
With that, Irina moved toward the teachers' box.
Her plan was simple: approach under the guise of stopping Snape, but secretly target Quirrell to disrupt the spell.
"Oh, my dear Quirrell, I can only help you so much," Irina muttered to herself.
Carefully navigating the crowd, she pulled out her wand and prepared to cast a spell.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin section of the stands, Lynn, sitting casually with a small metallic device in hand, infused it with his magical energy. A sly grin spread across his face.
"Three… two… one… here we go," Lynn murmured, snapping his fingers.
Boom!
A deafening explosion erupted from beneath Quirrell's chair in the teachers' box. Flames roared upward, engulfing Quirrell and sending a shockwave blasting his seat.
The explosion appeared immense, yet its radius was oddly contained. It seemed to target only Quirrell's immediate surroundings.
Startled, Lynn almost dropped her wand as the sudden blast left her heart racing.
"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed, instinctively scanning the Slytherin stands.
The precision and power of the explosion hinted at an alchemical device crafted by a highly skilled artisan. Memories of the mysterious blocks surrounding Major Rohr's earlier demonstration flashed through Lynn's mind.
Back on the field, Quirrell was launched skyward, flailing helplessly before crashing to the Quidditch pitch.
Professor McGonagall, acting swiftly, cast a Levitation Charm to slow his descent, preventing what might have been a fatal collision with the ground. Even so, Quirrell lay bloodied and battered, his robes scorched, his legs shattered, and his face twisted in pain and fury.
As several Gryffindor students carried him to the hospital wing, Quirrell's bloodshot eyes scanned the stands, searching for the perpetrator of his humiliation. His efforts were in vain.
"Fool!" Voldemort hissed in his mind. "You couldn't even detect the alchemical trap beneath you!"
Meanwhile, back in the Slytherin stands, Malfoy stared at the scene in shock. "Bloody hell… Quirrell just exploded!"
Lynn, unfazed and unapologetic, thought to himself, Well, another mystery left for the professors to solve.
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