Chapter 129: The First Match

The next morning, the weather was clear and cold. The dining hall was filled with the enticing aroma of roasted sausages, and everyone chattered excitedly, looking forward to an amazing Quidditch match.

“Just like we said, Harry, you’ll succeed!”

Ron had been encouraging Harry since early morning.

The two of them sat at the Gryffindor table directly behind Wizard Sean.

Harry nodded.

Wizards were nearly all passionate about Quidditch. Ron and Harry wondered—if Harry could show even a little talent in Quidditch, would that give him some value?

—Just like Jia Jia Siting knew many culinary spells and organized all of Wizard Sean’s notes, categorizing and integrating them scientifically.

Or Neville, who helped Wizard Sean refine his Herbology notes, and whose magical plants allowed Wizard Sean and others to observe and study them up close.

Or Hermione, who always taught everyone spells, only turning to Wizard Sean when the material was too difficult.

According to Jia Jia Siting, Wizard Sean knew everything, and recorded everyone’s spell proficiency in a special way.

When he spoke of this, his eyes lit up.

Harry and Ron were equally stunned—they hadn’t realized spells were even ranked?!

Wasn’t passing the final exam enough?

The two of them, whose minds were only focused on barely passing, had no idea how much passion they would soon unleash.

“You’ll definitely make it.”

In the Great Hall, Ron was even more nervous than Harry; it felt less like a first match and more like their ticket into the secret organization.

Watching their tense expressions, Jia Jia Siting at the Ravenclaw table couldn’t stop laughing.

Wizard Sean glanced at Jia Jia Siting one extra time, and Jia Jia Siting immediately stifled his laughter.

Lately… has he been acting strange…

Wizard Sean thought.

By eleven o’clock, nearly the entire school had gathered on the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch.

Many students brought telescopes. The seats had been raised nearly to the sky, yet it was still hard to see the game clearly.

The match began quickly, and Wizard Sean and the others sat toward the back.

Compared to the Quidditch match—which, to Wizard Sean’s eyes, was like children playing house (after all, they were all far too slow)—the commentary was far more entertaining—

Even sitting beside the commentator Jordan, Professor McGonagall couldn’t stop him from babbling like a sleepwalker.

“The Quaffle is immediately snatched by Gryffindor’s Angelina Johnson—what an outstanding Chaser she is, and she’s also incredibly attractive—imagine dating her—”

“Jordan!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The commentary style was undeniably free-spirited.

The cheers of the Gryffindors echoed through the cold air, mixed with the roars and groans of the Slytherins.

Suddenly, the Gryffindors erupted in angry shouts.

Marcus Flint had deliberately rammed into Harry; Harry’s broom lurched violently off course, but he clung to it tightly.

Lee Jordan shouted even louder, completely forgetting he was the commentator:

“Slytherin gains an advantage—entirely due to that obvious and despicable foul—”

“Jordan!”

Professor McGonagall growled softly.

“I mean, due to that open and repulsive foul—”

“Jordan, I’m warning you—”

“Alright, alright. Flint nearly killed Gryffindor’s Seeker—I’m sure everyone’s had moments like this—so Gryffindor is awarded a penalty kick. Spintner catches the ball, passes it cleanly, and play continues—Gryffindor still controls the Quaffle.”

Sometimes sarcasm provoked more anger than blunt truth; the Slytherins stared at him with icy glares.

Wizard Sean thought Professor McGonagall sat beside him not just to monitor his commentary, but perhaps more importantly to prevent him from being beaten by furious Slytherins.

Wizard Sean quietly opened *The Illustrated Making Guide to Ancient Runes*. He had come to the Quidditch pitch only because Professor McGonagall had said:

“Go out and see more, child. The Quidditch match is about to begin.”

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted from the Quidditch pitch—Harry’s broom was behaving abnormally!

The broom writhed and jerked wildly, slowly lifting Harry higher and higher away from the field.

It began spinning and tumbling uncontrollably; Harry barely managed to hold on. The next second, the broom convulsed again, hurling Harry off. Now he clung to the broom handle with only one hand, dangling in midair.

This heart-stopping scene caused everyone to widen their eyes.

Wizard Sean seemed to recall something; when he turned around, Hermione had already pushed through the crowd and reached the stands where Professor Snape sat.

She even knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the front-row seats without stopping to apologize.

She whispered under her breath: “It’s Snape—he’s casting a curse on the broom.”

Compared to Harry, who was clearly unharmed, Hermione’s actions made Wizard Sean’s eyes widen slightly.

At another stand.

Hermione hid beside Professor Snape, preparing to cast a spell on his unhealed leg.

She murmured incantations, but the magic vanished before it could be released.

She turned in panic—and saw Wizard Sean.

He had just elegantly lowered his wand, speaking softly:

“Hermione, look—”

In the sky, Harry suddenly climbed back onto his broom.

Moments later, the stands erupted in cheers—Harry had caught the Golden Snitch!

Hermione stiffly turned back:

“Why… Wizard Sean?”

Wizard Sean said nothing, only returned with Hermione to where Jia Jia Siting and the others waited.

Neville was crying, utterly unlike the boy who had once faced a troll with courage.

On the highest stand.

Penelope’s brow furrowed, her suppressed fury nearly swallowing Roger before her—the Ravenclaw athlete and reserve Quidditch team captain.

“You’re in charge of recruitment, yet you overlooked a wizard who passed the flying test—even Gryffindor knows about this!?”

She looked at the burly wizard before her as if he were a pig—perhaps even a pig was smarter.

“Who could have imagined… that test hadn’t been passed in ages…”

Roger trembled, grinning weakly as if he’d just lost everything.

“Go find him!”

Penelope, the prefect, exploded in rage,

“No—wait! I’ll go—”

But it seemed they weren’t the only ones searching for Wizard Sean; at a corridor corner, two red-haired figures blocked him first.

“You’ve finished those books?!”

“We’ve never met a wizard with your talent—”

“We’ve got to teach you some real stuff!”

“It’s just that we need—”