Quidditch event
---
Dyroth handed the notes back to Percy.
Strangely, though it was his own notebook, Percy found it uncomfortably hot to hold. The mocking stares from those around him only made his face grow even warmer. He felt guilty and ashamed.
His brother had done something wrong, yet instead of demanding compensation, Dyroth had generously forgiven him. The only request had been to borrow some notes, and now here he was, retrieving them.
For the first time, Percy felt genuine regret for his rashness.
Meeting Dyroth's clear, unwavering gaze...
His guilt deepened.
"Um… Dyroth, I'm actually not in a hurry. If you haven't finished with the notes, you can keep them..." Percy stammered, awkwardly trying to defuse the tension.
"Oh, you've already come to ask for them, and now you're saying that? Isn't that a bit hypocritical?" Alexia scoffed in disdain, making Percy feel even more embarrassed.
"You've misunderstood, Alexia," Dyroth intervened. "I'd already told the Weasley twins I planned to return the notes. I just hadn't gotten around to delivering them. Percy saved me the trouble by coming to get them."
This explanation eased some of Percy's embarrassment, so he shot Dyroth a grateful look.
"I'll gather the rest of the notes tonight and bring them to you tomorrow," Dyroth added.
Percy hesitated, wanting to say more, but he didn't know how to phrase it. Should he warn Dyroth to watch out for his brother Ron? Or apologize in advance for Ron's actions? In the end, he decided it was best to say nothing. Any mention of it would surely be gossip by the next day.
After Percy left, the prefects returned to the common room, sensing it was getting late. As soon as Dyroth stepped inside, Draco rushed toward him.
"Dyroth! You're coming tomorrow, right?"
"Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?" Dyroth asked, momentarily confused. Daphne, who was nearby, clarified.
"Tomorrow is the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. It'll be Draco's first official game."
"He's been pestering us for days to come and cheer him on," she added, smiling.
"You didn't know about this, Dyroth?" Draco was slightly offended by his friend's lack of awareness.
Dyroth chuckled and shook his head. "You forget I can't fly on a broomstick! I don't really care about these things."
Realizing his mistake, Draco's face flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that! I just thought..."
"It's alright, Draco," Dyroth reassured him, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll be there to support you."
Dyroth remembered that in tomorrow's Quidditch match, there would be the scene of an attack by Quirrell, who would attempt to knock Harry Potter off his broom. If he remembered correctly, Snape would intervene to save him. He wondered whether Harry, currently a substitute, would actually get the chance to play.
---
The next morning, the air was thick with anticipation. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin were abuzz, and there was an undeniable tension in the Great Hall. For Hogwarts students, Quidditch was a significant event, especially when it contributed to the House Cup standings.
As Dyroth arrived at the Slytherin table, he noticed Marcus Flint and the Quidditch team huddled together, discussing tactics. Across the hall, Gryffindor's hourglass for the House Cup reflected their recent losses, much to the dismay of its students. Harry and Ron, especially, sat quietly, guilt heavy on their faces.
But Professor Snape wasn't about to let them off easily.
"Good luck today, Potter," Snape sneered. "Then again, if you could break the rules and sneak into the restricted section of the third floor, a Quidditch match should be simple—especially against Slytherin. Oh, but I almost forgot—you're just a substitute Seeker, aren't you?"
He turned and left, leaving Harry and Ron flustered and embarrassed. The Gryffindor students glared at them with open disdain.
After two months of detention, Ron had developed a thicker skin and managed to eat despite the tension. His resolve had hardened, though Harry was far less composed. He was preoccupied, his thoughts drifting to the events of the previous night.
He saw Snape's injured leg that was hidden under his black robe and recalled the events that happened from Gringotts until now.
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Snape had tried to steal something from the third floor during the troll's attack.
He shared this suspicion with Ron, whose eyes widened in alarm. "That has to be it! Snape and that Slytherin scumbag must be working together to steal whatever Dumbledore's hiding."
Ron's words struck a chord with Harry. Dyroth had indeed disappeared from view last night, and besides Snape, there wasn't any other suspicious people at the scene who could help cover it up!
"I'll talk to Hagrid after the match," Harry decided. "We need to figure out what they're trying to take."
---
As Dyroth elegantly ate his breakfast, he felt a sudden weight in his pocket. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes flicked discreetly toward the Slytherin table, where Professor Quirrell was passing by. Dyroth's suspicions were confirmed when he later found a note tucked into his robes.
It read only one sentence: *Come to my office.*
The note immediately caught fire and disintegrated.
Dyroth sighed. "More trouble? Can't things stay quiet for just a few days?"
---
When Dyroth arrived at Quirrell's office, the room was empty. He waited in silence until the professor returned. As soon as Quirrell entered, his timid demeanor shifted to something far more menacing.
"Where's what I asked for?" Voldemort's cold voice echoed from Quirrell's body.
"I was being followed, so I couldn't retrieve it," Dyroth replied bluntly, much to Voldemort's surprise. He had expected Dyroth to make excuses, but the straightforward answer caught him off guard.
"Being followed is your excuse?" Voldemort's tone grew darker.
"Didn't you face the same issue?" Dyroth responded calmly.
Voldemort sneered. "How did you know I was there?"
"You don't seem like someone who would bet everything on a kid like me. You must have seen Snape in the area, and even if I had gone in, I would've been caught or killed."
"Snape is my loyal servant! If you had revealed your identity to him—"
"Let's be honest, 'teacher'," Dyroth interrupted. "Your 'loyal' servants are in Azkaban."
.
.
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