Quirrell knelt on the bed, trembling violently.
This time, his tears were real.
"M-Master... you know… this afternoon… that wasn't what I meant to say!" Quirrell pleaded in terror.
He could feel his master's presence, and he was seething with hatred for Harry.
"SILENCE!" A hoarse voice suddenly echoed through the room.
"Quirrell."
"Y-yes, Master," Quirrell responded humbly.
"I've already given you too many chances, yet you haven't managed to accomplish a single task for me."
The eerie voice filled the otherwise empty hospital room.
Quirrell's entire body shuddered in fear.
"Master, it's not that I don't want to complete your orders!" he stammered.
"Whether it was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, or now from Hogwarts… both are incredibly difficult! I can't succeed without the right opportunity! Snape and Dumbledore… they're always watching me!"
Voldemort's voice grew colder.
"Since we can't get the Philosopher's Stone just yet… then bring me unicorn blood instead."
Quirrell shivered violently.
"B-but Master… unicorn blood is cursed…!"
"Do you have a better option?" Voldemort snapped, his voice filled with fury.
Quirrell instantly cowered.
"I understand, Master."
The conversation faded into the darkness.
The arrival of winter…
By November, the weather had grown even colder.
The mountains surrounding Hogwarts were covered in a grey layer of frost, and the lake's surface had turned as cold and hard as tempered steel.
Each morning, the ground was frozen white with frost.
From the castle windows, students could see Hagrid outside, bundled up in a long moleskin coat, thick rabbit-fur gloves, and enormous beaver-fur boots, carefully defrosting the school's Quidditch brooms.
In this freezing cold, Harry continued his Quidditch training.
It was brutal.
But luckily, after several persistent requests, he had convinced Professor McGonagall to allow him to fly his broom around Hogwarts in his free time.
When Wood and the other team members found out about this special privilege, they were insanely jealous.
So, they all went together to beg Professor McGonagall for the same treatment.
And the result?
McGonagall turned as pale as ice, gave them all a furious lecture, and punished them by making them clean the Trophy Room… TEN TIMES.
Without magic.
A few days later, the talk of the Halloween troll incident finally died down.
After all, no topic lasts forever.
But the excitement at Hogwarts was only growing—because the Quidditch match was about to begin.
The only downside?
Quirrell had been discharged from the hospital.
Which meant…
They had to endure that disgusting garlic stench in the classroom all over again.
A new day.
The Quidditch match had finally arrived.
The weather was cold and dry.
Harry sat in the Great Hall, spreading sauce over a deliciously fragrant sausage, stabbing it with a fork, and taking a bite—while listening to the heated discussions around him.
Everyone was talking about one thing.
Many were arguing passionately, faces red with excitement, about who would win today's match.
From the looks of it… Slytherin seemed to be the favorite.
Hermione, munching on a strawberry jam-covered toast, curiously asked:
"Aren't you even a little nervous?"
Harry took a sip of juice and shrugged.
"Why should I be?"
Hermione frowned.
"Harry, this is your first Quidditch match! And you're the Seeker! What if you lose?"
Harry grinned.
"Merlin once said—only those who care get nervous. I'm just treating this as a fun game. I don't care about the result. Of course, winning would be nice."
Game Time
At 11 AM, the entire school—students and teachers alike—gathered at the Quidditch stadium.
They sat neatly in their seats, the anticipation buzzing in the air.
Back in the locker room…
Wood was giving his pre-match pep talk.
To Harry, it sounded like this:
"Comrades, the situation is dangerous! Our enemy is strong! But we are not afraid! As long as we unite as one—"
Blah blah blah.
Wood turned to Harry.
"Harry, nervous?"
Harry smiled slightly and shook his head.
Wood laughed.
"Good! You know, during my first match, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand!"
Everyone burst into laughter, easing the pre-game tension.
"Alright, let's go!"
Dressed in bright red team robes, brooms in hand, they marched onto the field.
As soon as they stepped out of the dark tunnel, the blinding sunlight made them instinctively squint.
And then—
A deafening roar of cheers erupted.
The stadium…
Harry opened his eyes, taking in the massive arena.
It was similar to the Roman Colosseum, but with one major difference—
The ground they stood on was nearly 20 meters below the tiered stands.
The entire field was circular, and the distant figures in the audience looked like tiny silhouettes.
From this distance, Harry could only distinguish the sections of each House.
That was why many students carried binoculars.
Once the Golden Snitch was released, the Seekers would be flying far and high, making it impossible to see the action without them.
Harry turned to the Gryffindor stands and immediately spotted a massive banner being held by a row of students, swaying back and forth.
It read:
"HARRY POTTER WILL WIN!"
This was Gryffindor's battle cry.
As their star player, of course, they had to cheer for him.
Although Harry wasn't too invested in the game, seeing hundreds of people cheering together made his blood boil with excitement.
Now he understood…
Why so many people craved the spotlight.
Singers, actors, celebrities—they all loved standing on stage, basking in the adoration of fans.
Because this feeling…
Was intoxicating.
Meanwhile, Malfoy sat in the Slytherin stands, staring at Harry through his binoculars.
Seeing that "smug" smile on his face…
Malfoy's nose nearly twisted in rage.
The match announcer, Lee Jordan, spoke into the megaphone:
"And now, walking towards us is the Slytherin team! Look at them, still dressed in that awful green. You know, I suggested last year that they change their uniforms, but—"
Professor McGonagall snapped:
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor, I just couldn't help myself."
Both teams stood side by side, mounting their brooms.
Madam Hooch stepped into the center of the field, her expression stern.
"I expect a fair and just game. No fouls."
She shot a warning glance at the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint.
Marcus gave a mocking grin, then sneered at the Gryffindor players.
When his eyes landed on Harry, his ridicule intensified.
"Try not to piss yourself when you fall off your broom, kid!" he laughed.
Wood and the others scowled.
"Shut up, Marcus!" George snapped angrily.
But Harry just smiled.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
Quidditch rules were too lax.
If this were the Muggle world, Marcus would've gotten a yellow card for that.
But here at Hogwarts, the game lacked clear regulations.
Madam Hooch could only shoot Marcus a disapproving glare—but nothing more.
To prevent further arguments, she wasted no time.
She raised her silver whistle, blew it sharply, and threw the Quaffle high into the air.
BANG!
The players kicked off, shooting into the sky.
The crowd erupted—
Students threw their arms up, screaming at the top of their lungs.
Their voices roared through the entire stadium.
The match had begun.