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Chapter 33: Secrets
The weather had turned increasingly cold recently, but the atmosphere within Hogwarts had quietly heated up—the Quidditch season had begun.
Michael was an ardent Quidditch enthusiast. He had even attended the Quidditch World Cup last year—an event that lasted five days and nights. Michael recounted at least seven times how the Scottish team narrowly missed victory and how the Canadian team clinched the championship.
Thanks to his detailed explanations, even Wade had become familiar with many renowned teams like the Heidelberg Hounds of Germany, the Vratsa Eagles of Bulgaria, and the Fitchburg Sparrows of the United States. No more Chudley Cannons and more. He also learned various Quidditch maneuvers such as the Eagle Head Attack Formation and Prenton's Back Technique.
But despite Michael's knowledge of intricate Quidditch techniques and spectacular performances on the field, once he mounted a broomstick, it was akin to stepping on a landmine. His entire body tensed up, and his speed barely surpassed that of a trotting pony. Going faster was out of the question, let alone ascending higher than ten meters.
Wade often wondered if Michael, even in their second year when brooms were allowed at school, would have to climb the stairs back to the dormitory—considering Ravenclaw Tower stands several times higher than ten meters.
Because Michael couldn't help but talk incessantly about Quidditch, a topic Wade neither understood nor cared about, he had begun avoiding Michael recently—perhaps only during Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff matches could Michael return to normalcy.
Hermione had also grown busier lately, with several Quidditch-related books now on her desk—Harry was about to participate in his first-ever game and was too nervous to eat. Their relationship had been improving lately, and Hermione's way of showing care for her friend was by trying to find ways to assist him through her books.
Wade felt Michael could confide more in Hermione. One enjoyed talking, the other was willing to listen—it seemed a perfect match. Unfortunately, their schedules rarely aligned, leaving Wade subjected to "Quidditch Match Review Broadcasts" most of the time. However, with Padma's recent inclusion, whenever she engaged Michael in lively conversation, Wade finally found some peace.
Hogwarts Castle was a vast complex, offering countless secluded corners. Wade discovered an empty classroom on the sixth floor near the library, featuring a small platform outside the window—a recent find and his secret haven. Surrounded by taller structures, shielded from the wind, and invisible from other windows, it afforded a splendid view of the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
Several tiny figures zipped across the Quidditch pitch, resembling busy bees from afar. Judging by the flashes of golden and red, it was the Gryffindor team practicing.
Speaking of which, Hermione had shared something in the Umbrella Room yesterday—Wood, Gryffindor's captain, had been furious in the common room recently. He'd initially asked the entire school to keep Harry Potter's joining the team a secret, intending to use it as a surprise weapon. However, it seemed everyone in school was already aware. Wood suspected a leak and eyed Gryffindors sharply each day, hoping to uncover the "spy". Several girls ended up in tears due to dating students from other houses.
In reality, the situation was evident. The Gryffindor team trained rigorously three times a week, regardless of weather conditions. Each time, Harry Potter would mysteriously vanish, only to reappear exhausted after practice. After several such disappearances, anyone could deduce he'd joined the Gryffindor team. Moreover, flying at such heights allowed students with keen eyesight to recognize them easily.
Wade stared at the distant stadium for a while. The airborne figures seemed disorganized, lacking formations like the "Figure 8 Surround" or "Eagle Head Attack". He shook his head, unsure if it was his vision or the players were simply inadequate.
Alchemy, in comparison, held much more allure.
With a wave of his wand, small blue fireballs materialized out of thin air, emanating warmth. Wade retrieved "On the Diversity of Species" from his schoolbag, transforming the stone pillar on the platform into a cushion and leaning against the wall to read.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he suddenly heard footsteps. Initially paying little heed, Wade's attention snapped back after reading a couple of lines, his heart suddenly racing.
There was a faint scent of garlic in the air.
Before he could react, Wade instinctively dispelled the fire magic and transformation spell, quickly and quietly moving to press against the wall behind the raised floor tiles.
"What are you observing..."
A sharp voice whispered softly, tinged with gloom and irritation, as if spoken directly into his ear.
Wade nearly thought he'd heard himself, only for another timid voice to respond—
"It's Harry Potter, Master," the voice trembled. "He's training on the Quidditch pitch with his teammates."
Wade immediately realized it was Quirrell and Voldemort, the latter possessing the former—just beyond the wall from where he stood!
Holding his breath, Wade involuntarily retreated, afraid to make even the slightest sound.
"—Harry Potter?" Voldemort's voice dripped with resentment. "Yes, the Boy Who Lived...the savior of the wizarding world...I'm just a shade now. He trampled on my remains to become a star, didn't he? Dumbledore must have grand expectations for him!"
Quirrell's demeanor likely mirrored Wade's—cowering and silent.
"Kill him, Quirrell," Voldemort ordered icily. "Strike when he's at the center of attention!"
"But, but Master—Dumbledore's presence—I can't do anything..." Quirrell stammered, visibly frightened.
"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? How dare you defy my commands?!"
Voldemort's rage manifested, and Quirrell immediately groaned in pain.
"No—I-I don't dare—I'll obey—I'll obey—Master, any order, I'll obey—please spare me—" Quirrell cried out, begging and writhing on the ground.
Yet Voldemort's torment persisted. Only after some time did he relent "out of mercy."
"Use your wits, fool," Voldemort finally hissed malevolently. "He's heading for the Quidditch game...flying fifty meters high...even if he falls from his broom, no one would suspect. A bungling coward incapable of clear speech—most would simply think his skills lacking—what's the surprise if such a child, who can't even master a few spells, were to plummet to his death?"
"Yes—yes—I understand—I'll do it—" Quirrell trembled, tears streaming down his face as he lay on the ground.
After a while, Wade heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor rise from the ground, straighten his attire, likely wipe away his tears, and depart with heavy footsteps.
Only then did Wade exhale deeply, his back drenched in cold sweat.
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