Harry Potter: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me from Studying

The weather had been growing steadily colder, but the school atmosphere was quietly heating up—because the Quidditch season had begun.

Michael was a loyal Quidditch fan; he'd even attended the Quidditch World Cup last year—a match that lasted a full five days and nights. Michael had recounted seven times how the Scottish team had narrowly missed victory and how the Canadian team had thrillingly snatched the championship.

Thanks to his endless explanations, even Wade was now familiar with many famous teams, like the Heidelberg Harriers from Germany, the Vratsa Vultures from Bulgaria, the Fitchburg Finches from America, and the faded glory of the Chudley Cannons, among others. He also knew various Quidditch moves, such as the Hawkshead Attacking Formation and the Plumpton Pass.

But despite Michael's encyclopedic knowledge of difficult Quidditch moves and thrilling on-field performances, the moment he got on a broom, it was as if he'd stepped on a landmine. He'd stiffen all over, cautious and tentative, moving only slightly faster than a galloping pony, and never daring to rise above ten meters.

Wade suspected that even by second year, when students could bring their own brooms to school, Michael would still only be able to climb the stairs back to the dorm—because the Ravenclaw Tower was several times taller than ten meters.

Because Michael constantly brought up Quidditch, and the topics he discussed were areas Wade neither understood nor cared about, he'd recently started avoiding Michael. Perhaps only after the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff match would Michael return to normal.

Hermione had also become busier lately. Her desk now held several Quidditch-related books—because Harry was about to play in his first match ever, and he was so nervous he could barely eat. Their relationship had begun to improve recently, and Hermione's way of caring for her friend was to diligently find ways to help him through books.

Wade thought Michael and Hermione could talk more; one loved to talk, the other loved to listen—they were perfectly suited. Unfortunately, their house schedules didn't always align, so most of the time, Wade was still the one forced to endure the "Quidditch Match Recap Broadcast." However, with Padma now joining them, Wade could finally have some peace and quiet when she and Michael were deep in conversation.

Hogwarts Castle was a massive complex, and finding a deserted corner was incredibly easy. Wade found an empty classroom on the sixth floor near the library. Outside the classroom window was a small platform, a secret spot Wade had recently discovered. This platform was hidden by taller buildings, sheltered from the wind, and couldn't be seen from other windows, yet offered a great view—of the distant Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest.

Several tiny figures darted and flew above the Quidditch pitch, looking like busy bees from afar. From the flashes of gold and scarlet, it seemed to be the Gryffindor team training.

Speaking of which, Hermione had mentioned something in the Umbrella Room yesterday: the Gryffindor team captain, Wood, had recently lost his temper in the common room because he'd demanded the entire house keep Harry Potter's joining the team a secret, wanting to use him as a secret weapon, but now it seemed the whole school knew. Wood was convinced someone had leaked the information and was staring at the young lions with piercing eyes every day, trying to find the "spy." As a result, he'd made several girls cry—because they were dating students from other houses.

But in reality, it was obvious. The Gryffindor team trained three times a week, never resting, no matter how bad the weather. Every time, Harry Potter would suddenly disappear, only to reappear exhausted after training. After a few repetitions, anyone would guess that he had exceptionally joined the Gryffindor team. Moreover, they flew so high that one or two sharp-eyed students were bound to recognize him.

Wade stared at the distant pitch for a while. The flying figures seemed chaotic; he couldn't discern any "figure-eight maneuvers" or "Hawkhead Offensive" formations. He shook his head, unsure if his eyesight was poor or if the players' skill wasn't up to par.

Compared to that, Alchemy was far more interesting.

With a wave of his wand, several small blue fireballs appeared out of thin air, emitting waves of warmth. Wade took out On the Diversity of Species, a book he'd borrowed from the library, and transformed a stone pillar on the platform into a cushion, sitting against the wall to read.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly heard footsteps. Wade didn't pay attention at first, but after reading two more lines, his heart suddenly thumped.

A faint smell of garlic wafted through the air.

Before his brain could react, Wade instinctively cancelled the fire magic and Transfiguration, standing up silently and quickly, pressing himself against the wall behind a protruding brick.

"What are you looking at..."

A sharp voice spoke, very soft, but with a gloomy and irritable feeling, as if whispering right into his ear.

Wade almost thought he had been seen and that the words were directed at him. Fortunately, when he hesitated, another timid voice replied—

"It's Harry Potter, Master," the voice said. "He's training with his teammates on the Quidditch pitch."

Wade immediately understood that it was Quirrell and his back-of-the-head passenger, Voldemort—they were just on the other side of the wall from him!

He held his breath, instinctively shrinking back further, not daring to even breathe.

"—Harry Potter?" Voldemort uttered the name with resentment, saying in a whispered voice, "Yes, the boy who lived... the saviour of the wizarding world... while I was but a shadowy wraith, he stepped over my corpse and became a superstar, did he? I presume Dumbledore holds high hopes for him!"

Quirrell's mood was probably similar to Wade's; he cowered, not daring to speak.

"Kill him! Quirrell," Voldemort commanded chillingly. "Kill him when he is in the spotlight!"

"But, but Master—with Dumbledore there, I can't do anything—didn't you say never to attract Dumbledore's attention—" Quirrell stammered, sounding terrified.

"Are you questioning me, Quirrell? Do you dare defy my orders?!"

Voldrell did something unknown, and Quirrell immediately let out a painful groan.

"No—I wouldn't dare—I obey—I obey—Master, I obey your every command—spare me—" Quirrell hissed in a low voice, begging and rolling on the ground.

But Voldemort didn't stop immediately. After the torture continued for a while longer, Voldemort "mercifully" let him go.

"Use your brain, you fool," Voldemort finally said with a malicious voice. "He's participating in a Quidditch match... flying fifty meters in the air... even if he falls off his broom, no one would suspect a coward like you who can't even speak clearly. They'll just think it's his own lack of skill—what's so strange about a little brat who hasn't even mastered a few spells being killed in a fall?"

"Yes—yes—I understand—I will do it—" Quirrell whimpered, tears streaming down his face, trembling as he lay on the ground.

It was a while before Wade heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor get up from the ground, rustling as he straightened his robes, likely wiping away his tears, and then leaving with heavy steps.

Only then did Wade let out a long breath, cold sweat instantly drenching his back.