Harry Potter and the Necromancer

Not long after Halloween, the Quidditch House Cup for Harry Potter's first year began.

Although the weather was still quite cold, the students' enthusiasm was enough to fend off the chill—especially for the Quidditch players.

"Today's match is between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Both teams have taken the field."

As the announcer spoke, the Quidditch players from both sides flew in on their brooms, first circling the field once, then stopping mid-air in a formation.

Madam Hooch appeared carrying a box. She was the referee for the match, as well as the flying instructor.

"I hope this will be a fair match. Everyone must follow the rules." Madam Hooch kicked the box with her foot.

"The Bludgers are up… and now, the Golden Snitch. Remember! Catching the Golden Snitch earns 150 points, and once a Seeker catches it, the game ends."

As the Snitch darted off into the distance, Madam Hooch took out the Quaffle and tossed it high into the air. The match had begun.

Regulus Black's opinion of Quidditch was the same as what he had said before when silencing Snape—

Quidditch was a barbaric, violent, injury-prone sport. It wasn't suitable for noble pastimes.

So, when Snape came to invite him, his initial reaction was to refuse. But after persistent requests—and even veiled threats—from Snape, Regulus had no choice but to come along and "watch" the game… or rather, endure the cold.

Regulus knew Snape's insistence on bringing him was mostly about protecting the Philosopher's Stone. He truly felt sorry for the man—originally, he only needed to keep an eye on Quirrell, but now he also had to monitor a teaching assistant.

A crisp, cold breeze brushed his face. Regulus, thoroughly bored, looked around. Many students hadn't used warming spells, and quite a few were bundled up like dumplings. But didn't they consider that the two teams flying up in the sky were wearing far less? Didn't that make them wonder why?

From their clothing, you could tell: most of Slytherin and Ravenclaw had used warming charms, with their warmer attire mostly for show. Hufflepuff had about half who had done the same. But Gryffindor? They were all wrapped up like bears. Though they bore the name of the lion's house, in essence, they were all just rowdy kids.

Their chaperone was the half-giant Hagrid—that whole section looked like a bear den.

As the match swung back and forth, and Regulus mentally criticized everyone, Gryffindor seemed to be in the lead.

Then! Their captain, Oliver Wood, was knocked off his broom by a Bludger—a brutal hit. He was completely unconscious.

Oh… poor kid. Still, Regulus Black had some admiration for this Quidditch captain.

"I'll go check on that child. I hope he's not seriously hurt."

Regulus saw this as a perfect excuse—no reason not to use it to get away!

Leaving the staff seats, Regulus didn't head straight to the injured player. After all, that was Madam Pomfrey's domain—and Hogwarts's three great "witch queens" didn't earn their titles for nothing.

Up in the sky, Harry Potter was experiencing what felt like a wild horse ride. His beloved Nimbus 2000 had become a bucking bronco, completely out of his control—jerking up, down, left, right, like a particle in Brownian motion.

Everyone's attention had just shifted from Oliver Wood's exit to Harry's erratic flying. No one had seen what exactly happened. But someone was definitely casting a dark curse—and many others were casting protection charms, too.

If you were to compare this to something, it would be like an astronaut training in a motion simulator. Not only was Harry spinning wildly in the air, but everyone else was also trying to stabilize him—only making the chaos worse.

At that point, even if Quirrell had stopped his curse, Harry would've continued spinning thanks to all the well-meaning interference.

Regulus Black cast a malicious glance at the field below. As expected, layers of magical protections had turned the ground into something like solid granite.

May Merlin bless Harry Potter.

"What's going on? Someone help Harry!"

Ron watched, clearly panicked over his friend's dangerous situation. But all he could do was worry helplessly from the ground.

"Obviously someone is cursing Harry," Hermione said. She didn't particularly want to talk to the foolish Ron, but as a classmate, she still shared her findings.

Handing him the binoculars, Hermione pointed to one of the staff seats—where Snape sat, staring intently at the sky, muttering under his breath with a tense expression.

"I knew it! That old bat is cursing Harry! We have to do something!"

Ron immediately looked at Hermione, as if accusing her with his eyes: Why are you still standing here doing nothing?

Hermione wanted nothing more than to pull out her wand and hit Ron with the first spell that came to mind. But with Harry still in danger and Ron being utterly useless, Hermione had no choice but to deal with the problem herself.

She sprinted over to the section beneath Snape's seat, just about ready to set fire to that bat's robes. when a pair of arms suddenly grabbed her from behind.

"Good children shouldn't do bad things, you know!"

Letting go of the soft, squirming little girl, Regulus Black wagged his finger as he spoke.

"Professor Snape is casting a dark curse on Harry Potter!"

Hermione hadn't intended to be caught—she had planned to light up the bat's robes and make a quick getaway. But now that she'd been caught in the act, she could only confess what she'd discovered, hoping the teaching assistant would help her.

"As far as I know, Professor Snape has no reason to harm Harry Potter,"

Regulus Black replied, clearly not believing her.

"But I saw Snape chanting a spell with my own eyes!"

Little Hermione stood her ground, not trusting his judgment either.

"In that case, let's listen together."

With a flick of his wand, Regulus Black cast a spell—the opposite of Muffliato—called Keen Ears and Sharp Eyes.

The two of them were beneath the staff seating, so they couldn't see much. Even if they could see through the chairs, the first thing they'd see would be… well, bottoms.

But the sound came through loud and clear. Within the entire range of the staff area, they could even distinguish who was speaking.

There was someone chanting a dark curse—but it definitely wasn't Professor Snape. Snape was clearly muttering a protective charm. In fact, two others were also chanting protective spells. Which meant Hermione had misjudged her target.

"Then who is casting the dark curse?"

Hermione was certain she hadn't heard that voice before. She could only turn to the teaching assistant beside her for an answer.

"Who it is doesn't matter right now."

Regulus Black pulled out his wand and struck the column beneath Quirrell with a heavy blow, shattering it completely.

The seating above immediately became unstable. Amidst the sudden shaking and chaos, everyone was affected. Both Quirrell and Snape were forced to stop their spells—whether protective or harmful.

Harry Potter's out-of-control flying turned into a controlled fall, and he landed safely on the reinforced protection charm field—though he did break his left arm.

"Slytherin has caught the Golden Snitch—match over!"

This year's Quidditch House Cup saw Gryffindor lose the match at the cost of an injured captain and Seeker. The victory went to Slytherin, although Professor Snape didn't seem particularly pleased.

"It's all your fault Harry fell!"

"It wasn't me who cursed him—and the one who did wasn't Professor Snape either!"

"You might as well just join Slytherin!"

Faced with this unreasonable tantrum, Hermione felt deeply rejected. Her tears were already brimming, about to fall—she felt like crying again. But maybe this time, she could turn to the teaching assistant for comfort. He would understand her.

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