https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-38-Learning-Understanding-Mastery/13684715/
Chapter 37: Quidditch Match
Wade had no idea that Professor Mor had already placed great expectations on him after just a single encounter. All he knew was that his long, stumbling journey through the study of Alchemy—like groping through darkness—had finally found a guiding light.
Back in the Great Hall, the four long tables stood mostly empty, with only a few late-rising students lazily eating breakfast. It was Sunday, and most students rarely woke early. Breakfast time had been extended by half an hour as a result.
Wade grabbed two sandwiches at random and spotted West Mor, a sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect, sitting at the far end of the long table. He walked over and sat beside him.
"Good morning, West Mor."
"Morning, Wade," West Mor replied lazily. "Rare to see you sleeping in."
Wade leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Hey, West Mor—do you know who the school’s Alchemy professor is?"
"Of course. Terence Mor," West Mor said. "I’m taking his advanced course this year. Why’re you asking?"
"I’m just really interested in Alchemy," Wade said, deliberately omitting the morning’s accidental meeting. "I was wondering—what’s Professor Mor like? I don’t remember anyone mentioning him during the Welcome Feast."
"Of course not," West Mor said with a shrug. "He’s never here on campus. You wouldn’t see him at the Welcome Feast or even at Halloween. He’s a legend." He leaned in, eyes gleaming with awe. "Terence Mor is one of the greatest Alchemists alive—second only to Nicolas Flamel, of course. Everyone agrees Flamel is the greatest Alchemist of our time. There are at least half a dozen people who’ve been called ‘the second Flamel,’ but Mor? He’s not chasing fame. He actually has the skill."
West Mor lowered his voice even further, almost conspiratorially. "Did you know he owns shares in Nimbus Flying Broomstick Company? He’s a regular guest at the homes of famous wizards, even counts Sethina Woback—yes, that Sethina Woback—as a personal friend. He’s collaborated with ministries across the world and was involved in at least three major Ministry renovation projects. Just last Halloween, he was in Carcassonne, attending the Alchemy Symposium—only the top-tier Alchemists get invited."
He sat back, voice returning to normal. "So this man, who’s constantly traveling the world, managing international affairs… it’s already impressive that he finds time to teach us every week. He doesn’t live on campus, rarely comes to the Great Hall for meals. But you’re making a smart move starting Alchemy now. By the time you reach sixth year and officially join his class, you’ll be ready to shine. Maybe even earn his personal mentorship—straight up to the top, no steps."
"Step up to the top?" Benson suddenly interrupted. He’d appeared out of nowhere, hair a mess, flecks of toothpaste still on his cheeks. He snatched a pie from the table without waiting for an answer. "Come on, let’s go—late for the match!"
"Wait!" West Mor pulled out his wand and cast a quick Scourgify on Benson’s face. "What’s the rush? The game doesn’t start for half an hour. And they’re flying around up there—where you sit doesn’t matter."
"Of course it matters!" Benson grumbled, dragging West Mor toward the exit. "If all we get is a spot behind a pillar, we’ll miss the best plays! And I don’t want to sit near Slytherin, either."
West Mor turned back to Wade. "You’d better hurry too—"
Before he could finish, he was yanked out of the Great Hall.
Wade finally realized why the Great Hall was so empty. It wasn’t because students were sleeping in—it was because everyone had gone to the Quidditch Pitch.
Between yesterday’s events and today’s chaos, he’d completely forgotten: this was the day of the first Quidditch match of the year.
As Benson pulled West Mor away, the few remaining students in the Great Hall suddenly snapped to attention. They scrambled out the doors in a rush.
Wade finished the cup of hot water that had appeared before him, then headed toward the Quidditch Pitch.
The entire school seemed to have gathered. To get a better view, many students held binoculars. The stands were packed to the brim, rising in tiered rows high into the sky. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students mingled with Gryffindors, while Slytherin sat in a tight, isolated cluster.
At the very top row, Gryffindor students had hung a massive banner. The words “Potter for Victory” shimmered in shifting colors, and someone had painted a lifelike lion roaring beneath them.
The players emerged from the changing rooms in a steady stream. The entire crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Though there were only a few hundred students, the roar was deafening—like a stadium full of fans. The players soared like NBA stars, cheered on by their houses with wild, passionate energy.
Wade climbed to the topmost tier and quickly spotted his target. The professors, wanting space away from the students, had gathered in a single, quiet section. It was easy to find Professor Snape—his black robes stood out like a raven among the crowd.
And there, standing close to Snape, was Quirrell. He wore a thick scarf wrapped around his head, his pale face flushed with excitement as he watched Harry Potter mount his broomstick. His expression was almost feverish—caught up in the electric atmosphere.
Then—Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
The players shot into the air, vanishing into specks in seconds. The stands erupted. Everyone stood up instinctively, craning their necks upward, straining to spot the players. Gasps and shouts followed every move.
Wade pushed through the crowd, the roar of the game filling his ears.
Lee Jordan’s voice crackled through the air, bursting with excitement:
"Flint misses! Wood makes a stunning save—perfect timing! Gryffindor’s keeper is on fire!"
As the players darted back and forth, Wade finally reached the professors’ viewing area. Hidden behind the bodies of students on either side, he raised his wand and made a quick, precise flick—then a sharp, deliberate shake.
Quirrell, still clapping wildly at a Gryffindor goal, smiled with the other professors. He didn’t notice Snape’s dark scowl nearby.
Just as he began to whisper a curse aimed at Harry Potter’s broomstick, his body lurched forward uncontrollably. He tumbled down the stands, rolling head over heels, knocking over several students in his path.
It looked like nothing more than a clumsy accident—Professor Quirrell, too caught up in the excitement, had lost his footing.
People rushed to help him up.
"Are you all right, Professor Quirrell?" Professor Sprout asked, concern in her voice.
At that moment, Lee Jordan’s voice boomed with ecstatic triumph:
"Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins—170 to 20! A historic victory! The greatest Harry Potter ever! First time as Seeker—and he’s already beaten Slytherin!"
Quirrell froze. His bloodied face twisted in shock as he stared at the celebrating Gryffindor Quidditch team. For a moment, he forgot to hide the rage and despair that flashed across his features.
Fortunately, the crowd was too loud, too wild with celebration for anyone to notice.
Almost no one, that is.
Because Professor Snape, his face as dark as thunder, was watching Quirrell with cold, piercing eyes.
And behind Quirrell, hidden behind a wall of people, Wade quietly withdrew his wand.
He glanced back at Quirrell one last time—then melted into the cheering crowd, blending seamlessly with the rest as they poured back into the castle.
(End of Chapter)
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