Chapter 323: Dobby, the One Who Saves

Harry mumbled something in his throat, no different from the curses Anna the nurse spat out.

The Great Hall had been much livelier lately.

This was the first Quidditch match of the season.

And it was Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

As eleven approached, faculty and students alike began heading for the Quidditch stadium. The air was hot and humid, with distant rumbles of thunder.

“Good luck.”

Justin said to Harry as he walked into the locker room.

Everyone had come to watch the match—even Wizard Sean had come, because he couldn’t find Headmaster Dumbledore.

The headmaster himself winked at him from the stands, flanked by Professor Snape, grim-faced, and Professor McGonagall, equally displeased.

“Slytherin’s brooms are better than ours—that’s undeniable.

But the people on our brooms are stronger. We’ve trained harder, flown in every kind of weather—”

Wood’s voice boomed from the locker room door, loud enough for Wizard Sean and the others to hear.

“—and we’re going to make them regret letting that little brat Malfoy buy his way onto their team!”

Wood’s chest heaved with excitement as he turned to Harry.

“Harry, you’re the key! You’ve got to make Malfoy understand that being a Seeker isn’t just about having a rich father.

Either catch the Golden Snitch before Malfoy does, or die on the field, Harry—because we have to win today, we absolutely have to win.”

“He wants Harry to die on the field?!”

Ron stared, dumbfounded.

“It’s just an expression.”

Hermione frowned as well.

Only Wizard Sean silently stared at his wand, recalling that Dobby seemed set to interfere in this match.

If the Basilisk had already been dealt with, and Dobby’s attempt to save Harry ended up dooming him instead…

That would be a classic Scottish dark joke.

In the stands, cheers rose in waves—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff both wanted Slytherin defeated, yet beneath them echoed the jeers and boos from the Slytherins.

Professor Lockhart signaled Flint and Wood to shake hands; they glared at each other with threats, squeezing each other’s hands far too tightly.

“Wizard Sean? What are you looking at?”

Rain began to fall; Justin’s umbrella arrived faster than the rain.

Lee Jordan’s passionate commentary, amplified by the Sonorus Charm, echoed across the field; Justin, peering through his telescopic lenses, quickly understood something.

“Slytherin leads, sixty to zero! Let’s be honest—today’s Bludgers are absolutely ferocious; they must sense my misery, too—why won’t Angelina ever respond—”

“Jordan! I warn you—”

Professor McGonagall barked.

“Sorry, Professor! Look! The Bludger nearly took Harry’s head off!”

Lee Jordan shouted.

“What’s going on?”

On the field, Wood shouted; several Gryffindor players had clustered together, while Slytherin fans erupted in mocking laughter.

“We’re getting crushed. Fred, George—where were you when that Bludger blocked Angelina from scoring?”

“We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from killing Harry, Wood.

Someone tampered with it—it won’t let Harry alone. Throughout the whole match, it never chased anyone else. Slytherin must’ve jinxed it.”

George snapped.

“Listen. You two are circling me nonstop—I’ve got no chance to catch the Golden Snitch unless it flies straight into my sleeve.

Go back to the others. Let me handle the rogue Bludger myself.”

Harry said. Professor Lockhart gestured as if to investigate the scene.

“Don’t be stupid—it’ll knock your head off.”

Fred said.

“If we stop now, we’ll be disqualified!”

Harry shouted stubbornly, his hair soaked through by the downpour and plastered to his scalp.

“It’s all your fault—‘Catch the Golden Snitch or die on the field.’ You’ve lost your mind saying that to him!”

George was furious, even elbowing Wood.

“What’s the problem?”

Professor Lockhart’s voice carried over.

“Fred, George—you heard Harry. Don’t interfere. Let him deal with the Bludger himself—”

Wood gripped Harry’s hand tightly, staring at his determined face.

“We’re fine!”

While they were clustered, Slytherin scored again; the stands erupted further.

“That Bludger’s definitely rigged!”

Hermione, in her raincoat, spoke urgently.

“Is Harry really going to die on the field?”

Ron was bewildered.

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

A calm voice came through.

On the Quidditch pitch,

the rain had intensified, drumming loudly against Harry’s glasses with a steady tap-tap-tap.

“Are you practicing ballet, Potter?”

Malfoy shouted as Harry spun helplessly in midair to dodge the Bludger.

Harry dodged swiftly, glancing back—his heart nearly stopped—the Bludger was only feet away!

But just before impact, it halted, as if an invisible force had blocked its charge.

He instinctively looked toward the stands; through the rain, that reassuring figure had raised his wand.

“Wizard Sean!”

He cried out in delight, veering off course.

“What?”

Malfoy, smirking, widened his eyes in alarm as Harry turned toward him—he thought Harry was coming to ram into him.

And in the stands.

Wizard Sean felt a quiet realization.

His method of controlling the Bludger was simple: whenever it threatened Harry, he cast a Barrier Charm.

Dobby had been trying to wrest control from him, but a master-level Barrier Charm was no weaker than a house-elf’s magic.

“What happened to the Bludger?”

Hermione exhaled deeply, gazing at Wizard Sean’s silent spellcasting—another goal added to her list.

“I think it’s… a misunderstanding.”

Justin smiled.

“What misunderstanding?”

Ron felt Hogwarts was once again shrouded in fog.

On the pitch, Harry raced against Malfoy;

off the pitch, Wizard Sean battled Dobby for control.

When he lowered his Barrier Charm and used his own will to command the Bludger, he clearly felt something resisting him.

At first, Wizard Sean was losing—but soon, his will overpowered it.

Only then did he understand the panel’s description—you possess a proud will.