Chapter 17: 17: Quidditch Matches and Conspiracies

17: Quidditch Matches and Conspiracies

Unicorn?

In John's mind, he envisioned a white horse with a spiraled horn on its head. Unicorns were symbols of purity and also a protected species.

Upon hearing the cry, Hagrid rushed in that direction.

Despite his large size, Hagrid moved very fast. The big guy was so emotional that even John's trained physique struggled to keep up with Hagrid's natural advantage.

When they reached a clearing near a water source in the forest, they found the unicorn.

The beautiful creature was lying there, emitting mournful cries. A horrifying wound marred its body, and silvery, mercury-like blood flowed continuously from the gash.

"Approach cautiously," Hagrid warned. He gripped his crossbow tightly, ready to shoot at any sign of danger.

They carefully moved closer to the unicorn, and upon seeing its dire condition, Hagrid's heart sank.

"Oh no," he murmured, kneeling to try to help the unicorn. But the injury was too severe.

"No one would harm a unicorn, except for those reckless enough to risk their lives," Hagrid said, his voice heavy with sorrow. The wound was beyond saving.

John's heart sank as well. Unicorns were creatures of purity, and even the beings in the Forbidden Forest would not harm them. One name flashed in his mind: Quirrell.

Quirrell's nightly departures from Hogwarts were peculiar, and now a unicorn had been attacked. It was hard to believe Quirrell wasn't involved.

"John, let's bury her," Hagrid said solemnly.

Together, they stayed with the unicorn during its final moments. The creature gradually lost its life force, and its eyes became dull as it collapsed.

They buried the unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid was in a somber mood the entire way back.

John understood Hagrid's feelings. Hagrid loved magical creatures, and seeing a unicorn die before his eyes must have been heartbreaking.

"Hagrid, cheer up. We need to stay strong," John said, trying to lift Hagrid's spirits.

Back in Hagrid's hut, John tasted rock cakes for the first time. The cakes were nearly inedible, but Hagrid's mood began to improve after John's comforting words.

"That definitely wasn't an ordinary incident. We need to prevent it from happening again," John said, knowing that there would be a second attack, and he wanted to warn Hagrid in advance.

Hagrid straightened up, "You're right, John. We have to protect those little darlings."

Little darlings?

John thought only Hagrid would refer to the creatures in the Forbidden Forest that way.

After their patrol, John fed Fang some dog food. Instead of heading back to the common room, he made his way to the library on the forth floor.

Navigating expertly to the Restricted Section, John found a book on Occlumency. The sense of impending danger was growing, making Occlumency an urgent priority.

He headed to the Room of Requirement to study. After a night of effort, he finally managed to reach Level 1 in Occlumency by activating his study mode blessing .

On the day of the Quidditch match, John was in the Great Hall, eating toast. Hermione was nearby, fussing over Harry like an older sister.

"I don't want to eat anything," Harry said, shaking his head and refusing Hermione's offer. He was very nervous, his legs trembling.

This feeling was terrible. More than falling off his broomstick, he feared losing the game in front of everyone.

"Don't be nervous, Harry. Just do your best."

John took a sip of water and smiled at Harry, "If you catch up to the Golden Snitch but don't have the strength to grab it, that would be bad. Getting hit by a Bludger would be worse—you'd have to spend time in the hospital wing."

Harry saw the logic in that and reluctantly took a few bites of toast. He definitely didn't want Madam Pomfrey nagging him.

Hogwarts' resident explosion expert, Seamus Finnigan, asked John curiously, "John, are you going to watch the match too? See us thrash Slytherin?"

"Uh... I am in Slytherin."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Seamus hurriedly explained, and John waved it off, indicating he understood. For some reason, the Gryffindors often treated John as one of their own.

Draco Malfoy approached, flanked by his usual cronies. He scowled upon seeing the Gryffindors and Harry.

"Wick, I'll take you to the Quidditch pitch. You probably don't know where it is," he said with a condescending tone.

John, realizing he needed to cheer for Slytherin anyway, decided to go along.

After they left, Ron gaped in disbelief, finally exclaiming, "Did I just see that? Malfoy invited John!"

Harry was equally astonished. "I'd like to say you were mistaken, but I saw it too."

Seamus leaned into a conspiracy theory, confidently saying, "John must have used a Confundus Charm on Malfoy."

Hermione, thinking the Gryffindors were overreacting, wrinkled her nose and said, "John has always done well. He's earned almost two hundred points for Slytherin."

Done well?

The Gryffindor lions looked at each other in confusion. Beating up Malfoy on the first day—was that considered good behavior?

They were bewildered.

Quidditch, undoubtedly the most popular sport in the wizarding world, almost made it impossible for John to find a spot in the vast stadium.

"See? Only I can find such a great spot," Malfoy boasted, as if it wasn't John who had just saved him from nearly falling down the stairs.

Goyle and Crabbe were clearing the way in front, securing them an excellent vantage point.

The stands were distinctly divided into two camps: one side decked out in Gryffindor red, the other in Slytherin green.

The match hadn't even started yet, but the spectators were already close to clashing.

With Madam Hooch's silver whistle, the Quidditch match officially began.

The commentator was Gryffindor's Lee Jordan, with Professor McGonagall, a die-hard Quidditch fan, beside him.

When Gryffindor scored, he nearly jumped with joy, but when Slytherin scored, his commentary was brief and unenthusiastic.

John couldn't help but scoff at the blatant bias, amazed that no one else seemed to find it odd.

After the first goal, John spotted Hagrid pushing his way through the crowd on the opposite side, a red wave around him. Next to him, Ron and Hermione looked like two small dolls.

Apparently, every person in the wizarding world found it hard to resist the allure of Quidditch.

The match was intense, primarily because of the frequent fouls.

John had heard at least five or six angry shouts from the audience calling out fouls.

Unfortunately, Quidditch wasn't like soccer; there were no red cards.

Suddenly, John noticed Harry's broomstick behaving erratically, jerking up and down wildly as if it had been enchanted with a rogue spell.

He instinctively glanced at Malfoy, who was gleefully watching his nemesis, Potter, suffer.

"Of course, Malfoy doesn't have that kind of power," John muttered, though Malfoy didn't catch his words.

After a while, Harry's broom finally stabilized.

John noticed that his own head of house's robe was on fire. Snape, in an effort to extinguish it, had inadvertently elbowed Quirrell in the face.

"That must hurt."

Unexpectedly, his head of house had some skills; the elbow strike nearly knocked Quirrell out cold. John saw Quirrell's head slam into the seat behind him, rendering him dazed for at least a few minutes.

With his broom under control, Harry spotted the Golden Snitch and swiftly chased it, diving toward the ground before crashing.

People saw him clutch his mouth and then spit out the Golden Snitch.

Lee Jordan immediately announced that Harry had caught the Golden Snitch, ending the game.

With a score of 170 to 60, Gryffindor won the match.

John felt a pang of regret and remarked, "We're missing a really good Seeker."

With Harry's superb flying skills and the aid of his Nimbus 2000, the Slytherin Seeker looked like a block of wood in comparison.

Malfoy nodded in agreement, but then realized when he had become so friendly with John Wick and quickly left.

At the same time, Malfoy planted a seed of determination in his heart: he must become the Slytherin Seeker and thoroughly beat Potter.

John found the situation with Harry's out-of-control broomstick suspicious.

As for whether his own head of house was involved, John could only say that Snape was fiercely loyal.

After all, the lovesick Snape would never harm Lily's child. John even suspected that if Harry had been a girl, Snape might have taken up a nurturing role instead.

This was a man who dared to betray Voldemort for the woman he secretly loved.

"Forget about that big dog, forget what it's guarding. That's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel..."

"Ah-ha, so it involves someone named Nicolas Flamel, does it?"

Hagrid's frustrated and angry voice was followed by Harry's inquisitive tone, sensing he had discovered something.

After watching the match, John stood at the door, pondering whether he should go in now.

Glancing at the dog food he had brought, he figured he could wait, but the greedy Fang likely couldn't.

He already heard Fang drooling.

How this big dog became loyal to him over Tom's dog food was a mystery.

Knocking on the door and entering, John saw an angry and frustrated Hagrid sulking.

The trio was also there.

Oh, and there were rock cakes on the table.

'I hope Hermione's dentist father could fix their teeth.'