Madam Hooch was delighted to see them bring back an unharmed Neville to class, immediately awarding each of them twenty points.
Although Neville hadn't suffered any physical injury, out of consideration for psychological health, Madam Hooch still asked Sterling and the others to take Neville to the hospital wing, even awarding each of them an additional five points for this.
She didn't dare leave the field to these young wizards alone. Never mind the others, but these were Slytherins and Gryffindors.
Terry's face was almost twisted with joy. That was fifty points total. It wasn't easy to earn so many.
Nothing else mattered. Tonight when they returned to the common room, if Robert didn't immediately fuss over them, Terry would suspect he'd been hit with the Imperius Curse.
"Neville, you get nervous too easily."
Sterling supported Neville, who was still shaken but, to Sterling's relief, hadn't cried.
"I heard the whistle and instinctively clamped my legs... once I took off, I couldn't stop..."
"From the sound of it, that broomstick's power system also had problems. Don't worry, Neville. Even Quidditch team members might have accidents on such problematic broomsticks."
Terry also helped comfort him, mentally considering whether to write another petition for replacing broomsticks...
Ever since organising the complaint-against-Quirrell activity, it seemed some strange door had opened for Terry.
Sterling noticed Terry's hidden thoughts and decided that since Quirrell's complaint was destined to fail, if Terry really went through with the broomstick petition, he'd help make it happen.
At most it would weaken him for a few days, requiring a few more reality modifications.
They brought Neville to the hospital wing. Since Sterling entered first, he startled Madam Pomfrey. She thought this child was coming to achieve the record of three hospital wing visits in one week.
When she heard it was the apparently uninjured Neville, she first sighed in relief, then after hearing what Neville had experienced, her eyes widened and she angrily went to fetch a calming draught.
"To think such a serious incident occurred... if he'd fallen, his leg would definitely have been broken..."
Madam Pomfrey muttered as she pulled out a calming draught that seemed somewhat too dark in colour and handed it to Neville.
"Really, Rolanda, I keep saying you young wizards shouldn't be exposed to flying broomsticks so early..."
"Madam Pomfrey? Isn't this calming draught's colour a bit wrong?" Sterling asked carefully, worried that Madam Pomfrey had absent-mindedly taken out an expired potion.
"Oh? You can actually tell the colour difference. The difference from the original is quite subtle." Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly. "This is a calming draught improved by Professor Snape."
"I see, it must have a stronger calming effect. As expected of Professor Snape."
"No, the effect hasn't changed, but the bitter taste has been extremely intensified."
"Huh?" Both Sterling's and Terry's mouths fell open. Neville looked at the opened calming draught in his hand and suddenly felt this medicine wasn't absolutely necessary.
Madam Pomfrey laughed heartily. She loved seeing such expressions. It was also a way to relieve her own stress.
"Professor Snape and I both believe if we don't make some modifications to potions' taste, you might lose your reverence for getting injured... so we specially brewed this batch."
As she spoke, she directly stepped forward and poured the potion into Neville's mouth. Neville's round face visibly contorted for a moment, his entire face wrinkling like an orange.
"Alright, off you go. If you're still feeling traumatised tomorrow, come back for a dose of Cheering Potion."
Madam Pomfrey shooed them out.
Terry estimated the time and felt it was almost dinner time, so he and Sterling simply took Neville toward the Great Hall, where they could observe Dumbledore's expression to see if he'd received that letter.
Halfway there, they saw Professor McGonagall striding angrily toward the grounds. Neville was so frightened by her stern expression that he immediately hid behind Terry, hoping his relatively broad shoulders would shield him.
But Professor McGonagall completely bypassed their group, walking straight past them.
"Let's guess how many points Gryffindor and Slytherin will lose when we get to the Great Hall," Terry said, winking at Sterling after McGonagall disappeared from view.
"At least twenty points each," Sterling said conservatively, based on McGonagall's expression.
Terry disagreed. "I think thirty or more. Usually Professor McGonagall greets students when she sees them. This time I doubt she even noticed us."
Neville was on the verge of tears. Gryffindor didn't have many house points to begin with. Even losing twenty points would make Percy roar in the common room...
Unexpectedly, after watching the Gryffindor and Slytherin hourglasses for over five minutes in the Great Hall, they concluded that Professor McGonagall hadn't deducted points from either house.
Could it be that McGonagall's hurried pace and stern expression weren't because Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten into a fight?
As the dinner bell rang, they stopped caring about this matter. Whether points were deducted or not had nothing to do with Ravenclaw anyway.
Thanks to Hermione and Sterling, plus the upperclassmen's efforts to prevent Slytherin's consecutive championships, Ravenclaw was currently leading in house points.
This formed a stark contrast with Gryffindor. This year's new students weren't earning many points, and the upperclassmen were still carrying the load. They could barely maintain their position until Harry Potter's first Potions class...
Perhaps because Sterling had stimulated him earlier, Snape had wildly deducted forty points in one class.
McGonagall's expression that day looked like she wanted to devour someone. Sterling was somewhat afraid she might suddenly draw her wand and give Professor Snape some Gryffindor shock.
Seeing that Gryffindors had arrived at the Great Hall, Neville hurriedly said goodbye to Sterling and the others before running back to the Gryffindor table.
Ravenclaw students also gradually came for dinner. Robert led the charge, immediately occupying the chair next to Sterling upon reaching the table, laughing and patting Sterling and Terry's shoulders.
"Well done! I saw it all during class. Beautiful spellwork! I dare say even if you demonstrated this spell to Professor Flitwick in fifth year, you'd earn considerable extracurricular points! I don't know how students from other houses can compete with you for Charms classroom points!"
Other upperclassmen also smiled approvingly at Sterling as they passed.
They weren't just pleased about the fifty points. They saw Sterling's current value.
Such spellcasting ability wasn't inferior to fifth or even sixth-year top students.
If previously Ravenclaw upperclassmen had only considered him a promising new student, now he was qualified to discuss magic with them as equals.
Just then, a small commotion erupted at the Gryffindor table. No one paid attention except Sterling, who was secretly observing Harry.
Suddenly, Sterling felt something about to emerge. "The Witness of the Author" jumped out on its own.
Fortunately, it seemed to instinctively make itself observable only to Sterling. It opened itself, and flowing handwriting appeared on the pages:
"Oh, rejoice! The saviour's chapter shall enter a new stage tonight. The talent from his father has earned him his first potential admirers but also attracted unfriendly gazes. This is reasonable. What hero doesn't have an inseparable rival? What a perfect opponent this is!"
"Bad yet not thoroughly bad; calling him good would be even more laughable. Where will his path lead? Don't rush. The one who decides his fate hasn't yet cast their gaze upon him..."
"The hero finally faces the trial set by the sage. Are his companions ready to become his assistants? No, no, no. Too early. The companion's growth awaits in the future. This trial can only be faced by the hero alone. But at least at this beginning, the hero can still borrow a little power..."
"Having lost the destined scholar, the hero might not survive tonight's trial... Noble innocent one, how will you manipulate his fate?"
The pages closed, and "The Witness of the Author" dissolved into the air.
Sterling carefully pondered this... let's call it a prophecy.
It seemed tonight would not be peaceful.