NOVEL NEXT Chapter 29: Harry in Danger
Dracula's eyes narrowed as he observed Quirrell, who was seemingly unaware of the strange circumstances surrounding the Quidditch match. He had no answers—he had expected Quirrell, already weak and under Voldemort's control, to be the one targeting Harry. But it was becoming increasingly clear that Quirrell was not behind this incident.
Could it be that Voldemort, even in his weakened state, had the power to manipulate multiple individuals at once? The thought made Dracula uneasy.
His gaze quickly scanned the pitch once more, and his attention was immediately drawn to Severus Snape. The head of Slytherin House stood in one of the stands, muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on Harry. But there was something odd about the way Snape was acting. Though he clearly despised Harry, there was something more—a flicker of worry on his face.
Dracula raised an eyebrow. Interesting, he thought. Snape is reciting a counter-curse to save his most hated student?
The vampire professor watched in silent fascination as Snape's incantations appeared to stabilize Harry's broom for a time. Despite Snape's outward expression of disdain, his actions seemed to show a deep, unspoken concern. The more Dracula observed, the more intrigued he became.
Meanwhile, the young witches and wizards in the stands, unaware of the true situation, were in full panic mode. Hermione Granger, sharp as ever, noticed Snape's mutterings and mistakenly deduced that he was the one cursing Harry's broom. Without thinking twice, she rushed toward Snape, her determination clear in her movements.
Hermione pushed through the crowd, making her way to Snape's stand. She quickly moved along the row of seats behind him, accidentally bumping into Professor Quirrell, causing him to stumble forward into the next row.
"Why are you in such a rush, Miss Granger?" Quirrell stammered, turning to face her.
"Sorry, Professor Quirrell, but I really don't have the time to explain!" she replied, offering a quick apology before continuing on her way.
Without missing a beat, Hermione apologized to Quirrell and rushed forward, pushing through the crowd. She was determined to reach Snape, no matter the obstacles in her path.
The entire crowd was fixated on Harry, struggling with the rogue broom, so no one noticed Hermione slipping silently behind Snape. She crouched low, swiftly pulling out her wand, and muttered a few quiet words she had perfected on her own.
In an instant, bright blue flames erupted from her wand, curling and leaping toward the hem of Snape's robes.
The bluebell flames were harmless to people, but they could easily singe fabric or plants. Hermione had chosen it for just that reason—it wouldn't hurt anyone, but it would do the job without being noticed.
For a few long seconds, Snape remained oblivious, too absorbed in his incantation. But then, the heat reached his robes, and he suddenly snapped his gaze away from Harry, startled.
Quickly, Hermione extinguished the flames, tucking them back into her pocket, and dashed back down the row, heart racing. She was sure Snape wouldn't suspect anything.
But as Snape turned back, he saw his spell failing. The counter-curse stopped working, and in that split second, the Nimbus 2000 violently bucked, throwing Harry off the broom!
The crowd erupted into gasps, and Hermione's stomach lurched as she watched Harry plummet.
Her eyes darted to Snape, and her breath caught. For the first time, Snape's face twisted with a raw, unmistakable panic.
Snape fumbled for his wand, desperation in his eyes, while across the pitch, Professor McGonagall raised her wand in time, chanting a counter-spell.
"Arresto Momentum."
The words barely left McGonagall's lips when both professors were struck by shock.
The slowing spells, so perfectly cast and rarely failed, suddenly didn't work. After years of flawless magic, Snape and McGonagall found themselves in a rare, unsettling moment of uncertainty.
Harry's fall had now become a perilous one. The two professors had no time to react. Harry, the young hero, was plummeting faster than anyone could hope to catch him.
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Meanwhile, across the field, the Weasley twins, the Gryffindor beaters, were desperately trying to rescue Harry. They had already attempted to pull him onto one of their brooms when his broom first started to act up, but every time they got close, the broom jerked higher, out of reach.
No longer concerned about winning the match or the ongoing bet with Slytherin, they now flew toward the stands where Dracula was perched, their voices tinged with panic.
"Professor, can't you save him! We know you can!" they pleaded, their eyes wide with fear.
"Yes, you're Harry's most admired professor!" they added urgently.
Cedric, standing under the umbrella with Dracula, glanced up, his own face filled with expectation.
Dracula, grinning as he looked down at the scene unfolding, raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Did you really think I'd let him fall to his death?" he asked, his smile reassuring the trio below.
The three young wizards felt a surge of relief at his words.
His gaze turned to Harry, still plummeting toward the earth, and he noticed the professors struggling. With a flick of his fingers, a large bat—similar to the one that had captured Cedric earlier—flew out from beneath the umbrella. It shot upwards in seconds, swooping beneath Harry.
The bat easily caught Harry, gliding downward in a smooth arc before gently depositing him onto the Quidditch pitch below.
As the bat made its descent, Ms. Hooch, riding her broom, swooped in and caught Harry's Nimbus 2000 just before it hit the ground.
She landed softly, looking down at Harry, who appeared dazed and was clutching his stomach as if to keep from vomiting. "Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, concern etched across her face. "Poor thing, this must be the first time you've experienced something like this."
With a comforting smile, Ms. Hooch added, "Don't worry about it, Harry. Those Slytherin shots aimed at your broom don't count. You'll get another chance next time."
With a flick of her wand, Ms. Hooch amplified her voice, addressing the crowd:
"I announce that today's match is..."
"Wait, Ms. Hooch!" Harry interrupted, finally managing to spit out the contents of his mouth.
"I caught the Snitch!" he shouted, holding it triumphantly above his head.
The stands erupted into cheers from Gryffindor, while Slytherin's protests filled the air. With the referee's approval, Gryffindor claimed the victory, and the match was officially over.
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Amid the chaos, in a shadowed corner where no one was looking, a young wizard with striking black hair and a face both handsome and chilling quietly slipped away from the Quidditch pitch.
In his hand, he held an empty diary. The ink on its pages slowly began to fade, the words written there vanishing as if erased by an invisible hand:
"Finite Incantatem."
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