“Though you did break the rules, Mr White…” Professor McGonagall regarded him with a complicated expression.
“Considering that you saved three of your fellow students…
ten points to Slytherin.” “Thank you, Professor.” Morrin gave a slight bow.
As the professors began dealing with the troll, Morrin noticed something.
The hem of Snape’s robes had been badly torn.
Beneath it was the unmistakable mark of enormous canine teeth, and dark blood was still seeping from the wound.
Fluffy’s bite.
Morrin’s gaze shifted to Quirrell.
The stammering professor was cowering in a corner, seemingly too frightened even to look at the troll, yet his darting eyes kept stealing glances at Snape’s injured leg.
Excellent.
Morrin sneered inwardly.
All the players are finally on the board.
Snape was trying to stop Quirrell, while Quirrell was searching for an opportunity to break through the defences on the third floor.
Morrin glanced at his system interface.
[Remaining Extractions: 45] Still not enough.
His grip tightened around his cane.
I need to keep saving.
As he left the lavatory, Hermione suddenly hurried after him.
“White!” Morrin stopped and turned slightly.
“Yes, Miss Granger?
If this is about thanking me, you could always finish this week’s History of Magic essay for me.” Hermione froze, then flushed.
“No…
I mean, thank you for saving me.
And…
that strike you used earlier shouldn’t have been physically possible.
Your kinetic energy couldn’t have produced that much destructive force unless your bone density is at least five times that of an ordinary person.” Morrin raised an eyebrow.
As expected of the top student.
One look and she’s already found the heart of the problem.
“Trade secret, Hermione.” For the first time, Morrin addressed her by her first name.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Some forms of power in this world can’t be calculated with equations.
If you’re interested, you’re welcome to come find me at the Slytherin table.” He paused.
“Bring your essay, of course.” With that, Morrin walked away on his cane and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Harry and Ron came over.
“He called you Hermione?” Ron looked horrified.
“Blimey.
The Slytherin demon has set his sights on you.” Hermione stared thoughtfully in the direction Morrin had vanished, wiping the last traces of tears from her face.
“Maybe,” she said softly, “he isn’t as awful as you two make him sound.
At least…
he’s more reasonable than a troll.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 9 November.
Hogwarts welcomed the first match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
That morning, a cold mist blanketed the surrounding mountains, and a thick layer of white frost coated the lawns.
Yet none of the chill could cool the feverish excitement inside the castle.
The Great Hall was filled with the smell of grilled sausages and fried hash browns, and an almost tangible atmosphere of impending war.
“Good luck, Harry.” Hermione pushed a glass of milk towards him.
Although she and Ron had already made up, she was so nervous about the approaching match that one might have thought she was the one about to play.
Harry looked pale and could barely eat.
At the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Morrin White was calmly enjoying a plate of Eggs Benedict.
Across from him, Draco was directing Goyle and Crabbe as they hid a huge banner beneath the table bearing the words, POTTER WILL LOSE “Morrin, are you really not nervous?” Draco finally asked.
He stared at Morrin’s hands, which were steady enough to cut cleanly through a perfectly runny egg yolk without the slightest tremor.
“Nervousness comes from uncertainty about the outcome.” Morrin wiped the corner of his mouth and glanced at the watch on his wrist.
“According to my calculations, our equipment advantage has already pushed today’s win probability above eighty per cent.
The remaining twenty depends on whether the Boy Who Lived can catch the Golden Snitch before a Bludger knocks him unconscious.” Morrin stood.
He left his Black Ironwood cane behind at the table.
He would not need it on the pitch.
His broom was his weapon.
“Come along, gentlemen.” Morrin adjusted his robes.
“Time to collect the return on our investment.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ At eleven o’clock, the Quidditch pitch was roaring with noise.
The stands were packed with students waving scarlet and gold Gryffindor banners and green and silver Slytherin flags.
Lee Jordan, Gryffindor’s commentator, was testing the microphone.
Inside the changing room, Marcus Flint stared at his teammates in their brand new dark green Quidditch robes, each holding a gleaming Nimbus 2000.
His face was flushed with excitement.
“Listen up!” Flint roared.
“This is Slytherin’s strongest year yet!
We’ve got the best brooms and the best sponsor!
Knock those Gryffindor weaklings out of the sky!” The team answered with a chorus of animalistic howls.
Morrin stood at the rear, holding a long black case.
He released the clasps.
Inside lay Black Swan, its savage frame gleaming with a muted metallic sheen.
Morrin had no need to give a speech.
He only needed to win.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ “Madam Hooch has blown the silver whistle, the match is under way!” Lee Jordan’s voice boomed across the stadium.
“The Quaffle is taken by Gryffindor’s Angelina Johnson!
She’s an excellent Chaser, and rather attractive as well—” “Jordan!” Professor McGonagall’s warning snapped beside him.
“Sorry, Professor.
Anyway, Johnson’s breaking through!
Wait, who’s that?
“That’s… good grief!” Lee’s voice suddenly shot up an octave.
A black blur ripped through the air with a deep mechanical hum.
It did not approach Angelina from the side.
It came directly from behind, closing the distance like a supersonic fighter jet.
“It’s Slytherin’s new player, Morrin White!
Merlin’s beard, what in the world is he riding?” “That isn’t a broom, that’s a rocket with a handle!” Morrin lowered himself over Black Swan.
The terrifying strength granted by his [Half Giant Bloodline] allowed him to make minute adjustments even while controlling such an enormously heavy broom.
“Apologies, Miss Johnson.” Morrin drew alongside her.
“This lane is closed.” He suddenly swung Black Swan’s tail around.
Its iron hard rear exhaust clipped sharply against Angelina’s broom handle.
It was not an illegal body check, Morrin had merely exploited airflow and vibration.
A violent numbness shot through Angelina’s hands.
The Quaffle slipped free.
Morrin swept out one hand and caught the red ball cleanly.
“Counterattack!” At once, the advantage of Slytherin’s six Nimbus 2000 became obvious.
Flint and Warrington shot forward like a pair of knives, cutting straight towards the Gryffindor scoring area.
Morrin did not pass.
He activated Black Swan’s [Magic Booster — Activated!].
BOOM!
Blue flame burst from the exhaust.
Morrin became a black cannonball, hurtling directly towards Oliver Wood.
Wood stared at the murderous black shape bearing down on him, and cold sweat instantly broke across his forehead.
He remembered Harry’s description from the Slytherin training session.
He’ll smash straight through you, broom and all.
Wood flinched instinctively.
That single movement was enough.
Ten feet from the hoops, Morrin hurled the Quaffle.
[Half Giant Bloodline] surged through his arm.
The ball screamed through the air like a red meteor, shot past Wood’s ear, and thundered through the hoop.
“Slytherin scores!
Ten–nil!” Lee Jordan announced reluctantly.
“That…
that was practically violence as an art form!
White’s too fast, the Gryffindors can’t even keep up with him!” The Slytherin stands erupted into thunderous cheers.
Down below, Draco screamed himself hoarse.