Vid didn’t know that just from a single eting, Professor Morry had placed great expectations on him. He was rely delighted that his alchemy studies, which felt like groping in the dark, could finally receive professional guidance.
Upon returning to the Great Hall, the four long tables were quite empty, with only a few students who had slept in enjoying a leisurely breakfast. It was Sunday, so most students wouldn’t wake up early, and breakfast ti was extended by half an hour accordingly.
Vid casually grabbed two sandwiches and saw Ravenclaw’s sixth-year male prefect, West Moore, at the end of the table, so he walked over and sat next to him, "Good morning, West."
"Morning, Vid," West said lazily. "It’s rare to see you sleeping in."
Vid leaned forward and got a little closer, "West, do you know who the school’s Alchemy Professor is?"
"Of course, it’s Professor Terence Morry," West replied. "I’m taking his advanced class this year—why are you asking?"
"Because I’m very interested in alchemy, so I wanted to learn more ahead of ti," Vid didn’t ntion his encounter in the morning, instead asking, "Which one is Professor Morry? I don’t recall anyone ntioning him when the new students arrived."
"Well, that’s because Professor Morry is hardly ever at school," West said matter-of-factly. "Whether it’s the start of the school year or the Halloween feast, you won’t see him. He’s a renowned Great Alchemist, said to be second only to Nicolas Flal in alchemy skills—and, of course, everyone agrees Nicolas Flal is the greatest alchemist of our ti, with at least five or six others being called the ’Second Nicolas Flal.’ But Professor Morry isn’t soone who seeks fa and fortune; he truly has skill."
West suddenly leaned in a bit, lowering his voice with admiration, "You know, Professor Morry even has shares in the Nimbus Broomstick Company and Wizard Radio, is a guest of the famous singer Sedina Wobek, and collaborates with various Ministries of Magic, participating in the reconstruction of at least three of them. Just this past Halloween, he was in France attending the Carcassonne Alchemy Conference, which only the top alchemists are invited to."
"So, such a busy person—" West reverted to his normal volu, "it’s already good that he can spare ti every week to teach us; he can’t live at the school like other professors and barely cos to the Great Hall to eat. But starting to learn alchemy now is a very wise choice; by the ti you officially study under Professor Morry in your sixth year, you might make a stunning impression, maybe even beco his actual apprentice and skyrocket imdiately!"
"Skyrocket to what?" West’s friend Benson suddenly interjected. He appeared from nowhere, his hair ssy, and toothpaste residue still on his face. He grabbed a pie from the table and, not waiting for West’s reply, urged, "Let’s go quickly, or we won’t get good seats."
"Wait!" West took out his magic wand and cast "Scourgify" on Benson, then said, "What’s the rush? Gryffindor and Slytherin’s match doesn’t start for another half an hour! And since they’re all flying in the sky, it doesn’t matter where we sit, right?"
"How can it not matter? If only seats behind the pillars are left, we won’t see the exciting scenes! Besides, I don’t want to sit with Slytherins..." Benson grumbled, dragging West quickly towards the pitch.
West turned back and called out, "You better hurry too, Vid—"
Before he could finish, he was pulled out of the Great Hall.
Only then did Vid realize that the reason there were so few people in the Great Hall wasn’t that many students were sleeping in, but because most of them had gone to the Quidditch Pitch. So many things had happened from last night to now that he completely forgot the first Quidditch match was today.
After Benson urged West to leave, the few remaining students in the Great Hall also seed to realize the urgency, and they quickly ran out the door. Vid finished the cup of hot water that had appeared in front of him and headed to the Quidditch Pitch.
Almost the entire school had gathered there, with many holding binoculars to better watch the match. The stands were packed, with seats rising layer by layer into the air. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were mingled with Gryffindors, while Slytherins stuck together separately.
At the top row, Gryffindor students had hung a huge banner, with the letters "Potter for Victory" flashing in different colors, and soone had drawn a lifelike lion on it.
The players from both teams marched out of the locker room in a line, and all the students in the pitch were shouting and clapping. Though there were only a few hundred of them, they created the atmosphere of a much larger stadium; the players, like NBA stars, received cheers and encouragent from their respective houses.
Vid first climbed to the highest row of the stands and quickly found his target—the professors who ca to watch the match were likely not wanting to squeeze in with the students, so they gathered in one area. Especially with Professor Snape standing out like a black crow, it was easy to spot.
Vid soon saw Quirrell—he was close to Professor Snape, with a large scarf wrapped around his head, intently watching Harry Potter riding his broomstick, his pale face tinged with a blush, seemingly infected by the lively atmosphere on the scene.
With Madam Hooch’s whistle, the players swiftly took to the sky, becoming small black dots in the blink of an eye. The students on the stands instinctively stood up, looking up to identify the players, occasionally exclaiming as the battle unfolded.
Vid struggled through the crowd, hearing Gryffindor student Lee Jordan’s passionate comntary ringing in his ears: "Flint didn’t score! Gryffindor’s goalkeeper Wood intercepted the ball with a beautiful move—"
In the to-and-fro of both teams’ players, Vid squeezed near the professors’ stand, and then quickly stretched out his wand, giving it a quick flick and shake!
Quirrell was clapping for Gryffindor’s goal, smiling along with the other professors, completely ignoring Snape’s dark expression not far away.
Just as he was secretly preparing to curse Harry Potter’s broom, his body suddenly lunged forward uncontrollably, tumbling down the stands, even knocking over several students.
It seed entirely like Professor Quirrell had been too excited watching the match and accidentally fell.
Everyone scrambled to help them up, and they saw Quirrell holding his nose with two streams of blood flowing down.
"How are you, Professor Quirrell?" asked Professor Sprout with concern.
At the sa ti, Lee Jordan’s ecstatic voice rang out—
"Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins by one hundred and seventy points to twenty! This is a great victory! The great Harry Potter! His first ti as Seeker, and he defeated the Slytherin team!"
Quirrell turned his blood-streaked face suddenly, dazedly watching the Gryffindor team celebrating, completely forgetting to conceal his suddenly grim expression. Fortunately, everyone was caught up in the cheering; almost no one noticed the change in his deanor.
Almost, because Professor Snape, also with a grim expression, was glaring at him.
And behind Quirrell, separated by a few rows of people, Vid quietly withdrew his wand. He took one last look at Quirrell, then blended in with the exuberant students to return to the castle.
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