The second Quidditch match for Ravenclaw took place as spring burst into bloom, this time facing off against the formidable Slytherin team.
Their reputation was infamous—according to Fred and George, Slytherin was practically a byword for dirty tricks and underhanded play.
The Slytherin squad boasted the best broomsticks in school, courtesy of their pure-blood sponsors who ensured the team got new models every few years.
Most Quidditch players prized agility above all else. But for Slytherin, superior broom performance made up for any lack of nimbleness. Their selection process favored muscle and size, assembling a team of hulking brutes.
Their playing style was notorious—brutal, physical, and packed with covert fouls. They used their bulk to shield each other, then slipped in dirty tricks whenever the referee's back was turned.
All this insider knowledge came from the ever-reliable Quidditch Encyclopedia himself, Oliver Wood. Although he captained Gryffindor, the rivalry with Slytherin ran deep. Not wanting to see Ravenclaw steamrolled, Wood quietly shared his latest scouting report with Arsenal.
There was no doubt—it would be a grueling match.
At first, Slytherin dominated, using their broom speed and sly teamwork to run rings around Ravenclaw. Cunning fouls cost them points, and both Roger and Jeremy were left nursing arm injuries.
Arsenal called a timeout. Wyzett quickly whipped out his wand and cast healing charms, mending their wounds.
Armed with Wood's intelligence and Arsenal's rousing pep talk, Ravenclaw adapted on the fly. They borrowed Hufflepuff's defensive strategy, clustering outside the scoring zone and relying on Wyzett's agility and speed to claw back the deficit.
Nearly twenty minutes in, Cho Chang found her rhythm. She darted past Slytherin's Seeker and snatched the Golden Snitch, bringing the hard-fought match to an electrifying close.
Victory snatched from the jaws of adversity—Wyzett etched the memory deep into his soul maze.
After the match, other matters unfolded. Snape canceled that week's private lessons. When he resumed teaching the next week, his tone was suddenly sharper, biting—just like at the start of term.
No surprise there. As Head of Slytherin, watching his own team lose would sour anyone's mood.
But Wyzett was used to Snape's barbs by now. The best response was always a calm smile.
Snape backed Quirrell into an empty classroom, his voice slicing through the silence with a spell: "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light filled the room. Quirrell's wand shot from his grip and landed in Snape's hand.
Staggered by the Disarming Charm, Quirrell collapsed to the floor, forcing a smile more pitiful than a sob. "Professor Snape… what—what are you going to do?"
"Three months, and you're still dithering?" Snape glared down at him. "Have you forgotten what you promised me back then?"
He sneered. "Let me refresh your memory, Professor Quirrell. Surely by now, you know how to get past the three-headed dog Hagrid keeps?"
"Heh… hehe…" Quirrell looked around desperately, trying to hide the panic in his eyes—and his guilt at being disarmed.
Snape's voice snapped like a whip: "Professor Quirrell, this is your last week! If you don't act soon—if you fail to seize the Philosopher's Stone for the Dark Lord—you'll die a miserable death!"
Quirrell gaped in shock. "You—you know everything!"
"Don't think I haven't noticed your little schemes." Snape crossed his arms. "That dragon egg Rubeus Hagrid got—wasn't that bait you planted?"
"You have only one choice. Tell me where the Dark Lord is, and I'll give you the key to the potions obstacle. Otherwise… you die here."
"Alright… alright…" Quirrell seemed to deflate, his eyes hollow. "Honestly, I don't know where he is…"
"He'll contact me on the day we move. Only then will I get his true location—so I can present the Philosopher's Stone to him."
"This is the last time I'll trust you!" Snape tossed the wand back to Quirrell. "And I'll only give you the solution to the potions puzzle when the time comes!"
"Fine! Fine! Fine!" Quirrell snatched up his wand and fled the classroom, scrambling away on hands and knees.
He dashed back to his office, cast a quick locking spell on the door, and only then unwound his turban.
He swallowed hard, gulping air until Voldemort's impatient hiss made him blurt out the whole encounter with Snape.
"Seems plausible enough…" Voldemort yawned, sounding almost amused. "He does have the air of a stray dog desperate to find its master."
Quirrell finally steadied himself, then asked in a trembling voice, "Master… what will you do?"
"If he wants to be useful, we'll make use of him." Voldemort's eyes glowed crimson. "Wait another week—let the students finish their exams."
"Once they're free, it'll be easier for you to create chaos. If anything goes wrong, you can use the students as cover to escape."
Quirrell croaked, "Great master… you're so wise!"
"As for Snape—I'll give you a list of potion ingredients. Have him deliver them." Voldemort bared his teeth in a savage, satisfied grin.
"If he really provides the solution and brings the ingredients, it proves he's still useful. I might just let the stray dog come home…"
He yawned again. "And we'll need to lure Dumbledore away. That will require your ingenuity…"
"I… I understand…" Quirrell replied feebly.
After so much torment, he no longer had the strength to resist. Obedience was all he had left.
"And one more thing… Tomorrow, go to the Forbidden Forest and kill a unicorn. I need its blood…" Voldemort's voice dropped, thick with fatigue.
Quirrell panicked. "But—but unicorn blood carries a deadly curse!"
Voldemort sneered. "Quirinus, this is the price you pay for refusing to let the Obscurial brew potions. Understand? You brought this on yourself!"
"This is what happens when you try to be a… good professor. Get me unicorn blood from the forest. I won't repeat myself."
His tone turned menacing, even through his exhaustion. "This is my last mercy to you—your body is still of use. Do you understand?"
The crimson glow faded. Voldemort seemed to drift into sleep, but Quirrell dared not move.
Two months ago, he'd made one final attempt at resistance—and suffered the worst torture of his life.
Even now, the memory alone could send phantom pain raging through his entire body…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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