Chapter 33: Secrets
Chapter 33: Secrets
As the weather turned colder, the atmosphere at Hogwarts became heated for a different reason—the start of the Quidditch season.
Michael, a die-hard Quidditch fan who had attended the Quidditch World Cup the previous year—a five-day-and-night affair—could not stop talking about how Scotland had narrowly missed victory and how Canada had snatched the championship. He had also, through his incessant commentary, made sure that Ved knew all about famous teams like the Heidelberg Hounds from Germany, the Vratza Vultures from Bulgaria, the Fitchburg Flickers from the USA, and the once-glorious Chudley Cannons, whose glory days were long gone. Michael was equally knowledgeable about Quidditch maneuvers, from the Eagle Long-Game Formation to the reverse Pringle.
However, despite his extensive knowledge of tricky Quidditch moves and impressive gameplay, Michael turned as cautious as a cat on a hot tin roof when he mounted a broomstick. He moved faster than a trotting pony but only barely, and he never dared to fly higher than ten meters off the ground.
Ved suspected that even in their second year, when they would be allowed to bring brooms to school, Michael would still have to climb the stairs to their Ravenclaw dorm, as the height of the tower was several times that.
Lately, Ved had been avoiding Michael, who couldn't help but bring up Quidditch and discuss topics that Ved neither understood nor cared about. Perhaps Michael would return to his usual self after the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match.
Hermione had also been busier lately, with a few more Quidditch books stacked on her desk, as Harry was about to participate in his first-ever Quidditch game, and she was determined to help him any way she could. Their relationship had started to improve, and Hermione's way of showing her concern for her friends was to bury herself in books and find solutions there.
Ved thought that Michael and Hermione would make a perfect pair, one eager to speak and the other eager to listen. It was a shame their schedules didn't always align, and Ved often found himself subjected to Michael's "Quidditch Match Retrospective" monologues. Thankfully, he now had Padma, and when she and Michael got into spirited conversations, Ved could finally enjoy some peace and quiet.
It was incredibly easy to find a secluded spot in the vast complex of Hogwarts Castle. Ved had discovered a secret spot on a small platform outside a vacant classroom on the sixth floor, near the library. The platform was surrounded by taller buildings, making it both sheltered from the wind and hidden from view, ensuring no one could see him from any of the windows, yet it offered a great view of the distant Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest.
Several tiny figures darted back and forth above the Quidditch pitch, looking like busy bees from a distance. From the flashes of scarlet and gold, Ved could tell it was the Gryffindor team practicing.
Speaking of which, Hermione had mentioned something interesting yesterday under the umbrella tree—about the Gryffindor team captain, Oliver Wood, losing his temper in the common room recently. He had demanded that the entire house keep Harry Potter's addition to the team a secret, wanting to use it as a secret weapon, but now it seemed the whole school knew. Wood was convinced someone had leaked the information and glared suspiciously at the Gryffindors, trying to find the "spy." As a result, he had made several girls cry because they were dating students from other houses.
But really, it wasn't that hard to figure out. The Gryffindor team practiced three times a week, regardless of the weather. Every time they did, Harry Potter mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear afterward, looking exhausted. It didn't take a genius to guess that he had joined the Gryffindor team under special circumstances.
As the students flew so high, there was always one or two with sharp eyes who would recognize them.
Ved gazed at the distant pitch, but the figures in the air seemed chaotic and he couldn't make out any formations like the "Figure Eight Loop" or "Eagle Head Attack." He shook his head, unsure if it was his own lack of insight or the players' incompetence.
Alchemy was far more fascinating.
With a wave of his wand, Ved conjured a few small blue fireballs that gave off a comforting warmth. He took out the book, On the Diversity of Species, which he had borrowed from the library, and transformed one of the pillars on the platform into a cushioned seat. Leaning against the wall, he began to read.
After some time, he heard footsteps, but he paid them no mind. However, after reading a couple of lines, he suddenly froze.
A faint smell of garlic wafted through the air.
Before his brain could fully process this, Ved instinctively canceled his fire and transfiguration spells, standing up silently and swiftly, and hiding behind the protruding bricks on the wall.
"What are you looking at..."
A sharp voice spoke softly, yet it carried a gloomy and irritable tone, as if the speaker was right next to his ear.
Ved almost thought he had been spotted, but as he hesitated, a timid voice replied—
"It's Harry Potter, Master. He's training with his teammates on the Quidditch pitch."
Ved immediately realized it was Quirinus Quirrell and his unwelcome parasite, Voldemort—and they were just on the other side of the wall!
Holding his breath, Ved unconsciously shrunk back further, afraid to even breathe.
"...Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered with loathing, "Yes, the boy who lived... the savior of the wizarding world... While I was left as nothing but a shadow, he rose to fame, treading on my remains. I suppose Dumbledore has high hopes for him."
Quirrell's mood seemed to mirror Ved's, as he cowered in silence.
"Kill him, Quirrell," Voldemort commanded coldly. "Kill him when all eyes are upon him."
"B-but Master... with Dumbledore there, I can do nothing... You said we must not attract Dumbledore's attention..." Quirrell stuttered, his fear evident.
"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? Do you dare defy my orders?"
Voldemort did something, and Quirrell immediately let out a pained moan.
"No—I dare not—I obey—I obey—Master, I heed any command—spare me—!" Quirrell whimpered, pleading as he rolled on the ground.
But Voldemort did not stop immediately. After a while, he "mercifully" relented.
"Use your brain, you fool," Voldemort finally said with malice. "He will be participating in the Quidditch match... flying at a height of fifty meters... Even if he falls from his broom, no one will suspect you, a stuttering coward. They will only think it's due to his own lack of skill—a novice wizard who barely knows a few spells, what's strange about him falling to his death?"
"Y-yes... I understand... I will do it..." Quirrell sobbed, prostrated on the ground, shaking.
After a long while, Ved finally heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor get up, his movements stiff as he wiped his tears and straightened his clothes. Then, with heavy footsteps, he left.
Only then did Ved let out a long breath, his back drenched in cold sweat.
(End of Chapter)
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