HP: Wizardry’s a Hassle, Wand in the Right Hand, Gun in the Left

"Three additional chapters are now available!"

Time flies when you're busy, and drags when you're not. Several weeks passed uneventfully, but one thing's excitement continued to build.

The Quidditch season, eagerly anticipated by all young wizards, was about to begin.

This wasn't just because they loved this thrilling wizard sport. It could also affect the House points standings at the end of the term. This year, with Gryffindor and Slytherin neck and neck, both houses took the match even more seriously than usual.

The already antagonistic Snakes and Lions were now at daggers drawn. Both teams' training regimens became increasingly "brutal". Gryffindor's youngest Quidditch player, their new Seeker Harry, was subjected to special training sessions by Captain Wood, aiming to familiarize him with flying and his role before the match. This left Harry exhausted, collapsing into bed upon return to the dormitory.

The pressure on him was immense. Never before had a first-year student, fresh to Hogwarts, been selected for the Quidditch team, let alone as the crucial Seeker.

Harry had set a precedent, becoming the youngest Seeker in history.

This weighed heavily on him, leaving him unable to eat breakfast on the day of the match.

Moreover, besides the Quidditch match, another matter lingered in his mind:

— Snape's injured leg.

During a detention in Snape's office after Potions class, Harry had accidentally witnessed Snape having Filch bandage his bloody, mangled right leg.

"Blasted thing," Snape had cursed, apparently recalling something painful, "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Then his eyes had met Harry's green ones peeking through the door crack.

Awkward moment, Harry-san. You've seen me in a compromising position.

"Get out!" Snape had roared, forgetting about the detention.

Harry had fled quickly, then shared what he'd seen with his best friend Ron.

They immediately connected it to the monster behind the fourth-floor corridor door, though they weren't entirely certain.

A three-headed monster? What could that be?

Even Ron, raised in the wizarding world, was unsure.

The boys finally thought to ask Hagrid, the magical creature enthusiast. Even if he couldn't tell them what was on the fourth floor, he might know what kind of creature had three heads.

Harry and Ron agreed to question Hagrid about this after the Quidditch match.

Well, well, it never occurred to them to check the library for information.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Harry found it even harder to swallow his bread. Moreover, since overhearing Snape's words, the old bat's cold gaze seemed to cling to him like a leech, making him deeply uncomfortable.

Harry stole a glance and found Snape still watching him, smirking coldly as if plotting something sinister.

The boy shuddered, the half-chewed bread in his mouth falling onto his trousers. Harry disgustedly picked it up and placed it on his plate, finally giving up on eating.

He couldn't eat; he even felt nauseous.

Ugh~

This first match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was set for eleven o'clock. The entire school gathered in the Quidditch stands, awaiting the teams' entrance.

Hermione sat at the highest point of the Gryffindor section, armed with binoculars and "Quidditch Through the Ages" tucked in her robes. She was eagerly poring over it, as this was her first magical world sports event. Her curiosity about the unknown had heightened her expectations considerably.

She was explaining the rules to Glenn in great detail. Glenn listened attentively but wasn't particularly interested in the match.

He still wore his black silk blindfold and didn't want to waste his limited daily supersensory time on watching the game. He was here solely to accompany the young girl.

They were still surrounded by Gryffindor girls. It couldn't be helped; the November wind cut like a knife, and the cold air seeped through every gap in their clothes.

If not for this Quidditch match, what fool would sit in the high stands enduring the cold wind?

Thank goodness for you, our Hermione!

The girls had gradually grown accustomed to the presence of the blindfolded, quiet Slytherin boy next to Hermione, his face obscured by black hair, barely noticeable. Though they all suspected some secret between the two, they refrained from teasing them in public to avoid upsetting the easily embarrassed young girl and losing their warm spot.

After all, back in the dormitory, they could gang up on her and interrogate her to their hearts' content. She'd have to submit to their "violence" and comply, hehehe.

If she didn't cooperate, they could always resort to hands-on methods, which suited them just fine, hehehe.

Hermione, engrossed in reading the Quidditch rules, sneezed several times and tightened her clothes.

Why did she feel several chills? Had the magic stored in her charm run low?

She took out the charm and secretly grabbed Glenn's hand from inside his pocket, intertwining their fingers within her sleeve, silently asking him to replenish the magic.

Glenn obliged, though he felt the charm still had plenty of magic. But since the little girl asked, he'd top it up again.

As Glenn began charging the charm, Madam Hooch signaled for the two teams to enter the field.

The red and green teams appeared together, mounting their brooms and flying into formation high above.

The two teams had only one thing in common: their fighting spirit was high.

Oh, perhaps one more thing — they were all shivering.

Harry sniffled and wrapped his robes tighter. The air temperature at that height was colder than he'd imagined.

But he saw his friends in the Gryffindor stands, holding up a bedsheet with encouraging words, cheering for him despite the cold wind.

Seeing Harry look their way, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and others waved excitedly. This warmed Harry's heart, easing his nervousness.

He smiled slightly and gave them a thumbs up.

With Madam Hooch's whistle signaling the start, the first Quidditch match officially began.

Gryffindor's chatterbox, Lee Jordan, was surprisingly the match commentator. Although his commentary was blatantly biased towards Gryffindor, constantly disparaging the Slytherin team, it was generally acceptable.

The intense atmosphere of the match infected the spectators, making their blood boil with excitement. They constantly cheered for their favorite teams, the excitement in their bodies dispelling the cold. Everyone was elated.

Damn, it's getting heated!

Professor McGonagall, a Quidditch enthusiast, abandoned her usual stern demeanor and fervently cheered for Gryffindor. Though she occasionally reprimanded Lee for his biased commentary, she secretly agreed with him.

Because the Slytherin Quidditch team's tactics were truly dirty!

It seemed as if the previous beatings from Glenn had given the Slytherin players new ideas for fouls. They turned their entire bodies into weapons, punching and kicking without restraint. One little snake even executed a spinning kick on his broom, completely bewildering George Weasley, one of Gryffindor's Beaters.

Everyone noticed Slytherin's significantly more aggressive style. The Slytherin players, transformed into mad dogs, scored frantically, gradually widening the point gap. Harry, as Seeker, grew increasingly anxious, flying high above, desperately searching for the rapidly moving Golden Snitch.

The match below grew more intense, but due to Slytherin's ferocious offensive, Gryffindor's score showed no improvement.

Had all the Slytherins gone mad? Why were they so agitated, as if venting some frustration?

"Achoo!" Glenn sneezed, silently snuggling closer to Hermione, continuing to rest with his eyes closed.

Marcus Flint, Slytherin's prefect and Quidditch team member, seized the moment when Harry was distracted and charged towards him.

"Eat my righteous flying kick, stupid lion!" he roared, separating from his broom, gripping it with both hands, and extending his body for a flying kick.

What kind of righteousness is this, you idiot!

Harry, his Nimbus 2000 struck, spun out of control. But in that moment, his peripheral vision caught a flash of gold!

That was...!

Damn... false alarm, it was just the reflection from Fred's watch.

No, wait, beside it was... the Golden Snitch!

He grew excited, preparing to dash towards the Snitch.

Suddenly, his broom began to vibrate violently, as if trying to escape his control and throw Harry off!

Frightened, Harry quickly lowered his body, tightly hugging the broomstick.

As Harry was at the highest point, not many people noticed his predicament.

Ron was clearly not one of them. As Harry's best friend, he had been watching his buddy closely and was the first to notice something amiss in the air. He spoke urgently to his companions, looking around, then snatched the binoculars from Hagrid's hands and scanned the area, finally fixing his gaze on the teachers' stand.

Of course, the sharp-eyed Hermione also noticed something was wrong: "Glenn, look at Harry, his broom seems out of control." Although she didn't get along well with that group, they were still Gryffindor housemates, and she didn't want to see Harry fall from the sky and become Harry-paste.

As she spoke, Hermione's gaze swept around, constantly passing over places she found suspicious. Before Glenn could activate his supersensory ability to check the situation, the observant girl noticed Ron not far in front of their seats, gritting his teeth and staring at the teachers' stand through binoculars. Following suit, she also raised her binoculars to look in that direction.

Hermione's expression suddenly changed.