For the next ten minutes, the match became Morrin’s personal show.
He had no need for teamwork, because no one could keep up with his speed.
He had no need to dodge the Bludgers either, because Black Swan’s armour could simply knock them away.
Thirty–nil.
Fifty–nil.
Eighty–nil.
Gryffindor was sinking into despair.
Their Seeker, Harry Potter, circled high above the pitch, desperately searching for the Golden Snitch.
He knew that catching it was the only way to put an end to this slaughter.
Then something went wrong.
Harry’s broom suddenly began bucking violently beneath him.
It thrashed like a maddened horse, trying to throw him off.
Harry clung desperately to the handle as the broom twisted and rolled through the air, looking as though he might plummet at any moment.
“Harry’s broom is out of control!” Hermione screamed from the stands.
Hagrid, staring through a pair of binoculars, looked equally alarmed.
“That’s impossible!
Nothing can interfere with a broomstick unless there’s Dark Magic involved!” Morrin had just scored another goal and was hovering in mid-air, calmly enjoying the roar of the crowd.
His [Dynamic Vision Enhancement] immediately caught Harry’s abnormal movements.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [The More You Know] You know, I’ve tried my best to figure out where [Dynamic Vision Enhancement] came from, but I couldn’t find anything.
So just treat it as a trait Morrin picked up somewhere, sometime in the past.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ He turned his head.
His gaze crossed half the pitch and settled on the teachers’ stand.
There.
Professor Quirrell was staring fixedly at Harry, his lips moving without pause.
Professor Snape was also staring at Harry and muttering under his breath, but he was casting a counter curse.
So it’s begun.
Morrin’s eyes turned cold.
If Harry fell to his death, the entire chain of events surrounding the Philosopher’s Stone would collapse.
If Harry survived but the match was called off, Slytherin’s victory would lose much of its value.
I need to interrupt the spell.
Morrin glanced at Harry, who was struggling desperately to stay on his broom, then towards the distant teachers’ stand.
Hermione seemed to have noticed Snape’s ‘suspicious’ behaviour and was already preparing to set him on fire.
Too slow, little girl.
Morrin shook his head.
At a time like this, what we need is an accident.
He yanked Black Swan’s nose upwards.
“Flint!” he roared.
“Cover me!
I’m making a turn!” Before Flint could even work out what he meant, Morrin engaged the boost again.
This time, he did not head towards the goalposts.
Pretending to pursue a Quaffle that had been knocked loose, he adjusted his course and flew directly towards— the teachers’ stand.
Faster.
And faster.
Black Swan began to roar beneath the strain.
“What is he doing?!” Professor McGonagall sprang to her feet in horror.
“White!
That’s the stand!
Pull up!” Morrin did not slow down.
Inside his head, he began counting.
Three…Two…One.
Less than fifteen feet from the teachers’ stand, just as every professor recoiled and drew their wands in preparation to defend themselves— Morrin slammed Black Swan sharply to the left.
A ninety degree turn.
At full speed.
BOOOOM—!!!
The tremendous centrifugal blast of air, combined with the flare from Black Swan’s [Magic Booster], created a shockwave visible to the naked eye.
It smashed directly into the stand.
CRASH!
The railing at the front vibrated violently beneath the impact.
The professors’ robes whipped upwards in the gale, covering their faces.
Quirrell, who had been concentrating completely on his curse, was struck full force by the sudden blast.
He toppled backwards and landed squarely on Professor Flitwick in the row behind him.
Spell interrupted.
At the same instant, Morrin used the recoil to carve a perfect arc through the air and neatly caught the Quaffle that just happened to be flying past.
“Sorry, Professors!” Morrin shouted from above.
There was not the slightest trace of apology in his voice.
“Brakes malfunctioned!
Bloody German engineering!” In the stands, Quirrell scrambled awkwardly back to his feet.
His nose had been knocked bright red, and his eyes glared venomously at Morrin overhead.
But he could hardly protest.
To everyone watching, the whole thing had looked like nothing more than an accident caused by an overenthusiastic Chaser pursuing the Quaffle.
Only Snape reacted differently.
After untangling his disordered robes, he gave Morrin a long, penetrating stare.
That blast of air…
The angle had been uncannily precise.
It had cut directly across his and Quirrell’s line of sight to Harry.
Did that boy do it deliberately?
High above the pitch, Harry’s broom instantly became calm again.
“It’s stopped!” Harry shouted in delight.
At that very moment, a flash of gold streaked across his vision.
The Golden Snitch!
Harry did not hesitate.
He flattened himself against his broom and dived towards the ground.
Slytherin’s Seeker, Higgs, spotted it as well, and the two raced neck and neck.
“Hit him!” Morrin ordered coldly from across the pitch.
But it was too late.
Harry attempted something utterly suicidal.
He stood up on his broom and threw himself forwards like an acrobat.
He hit the ground, rolled several times, then suddenly retched.
A tiny golden ball, wet with saliva, dropped into his hand.
“He’s caught the Golden Snitch!” Lee Jordan screamed himself hoarse.
“Harry Potter has caught the Snitch!
One hundred and fifty points!
Gryffindor wins!” The stadium erupted.
Gryffindor students poured onto the pitch and hoisted Harry into the air.
The Slytherin players, meanwhile, descended with the dejected expressions of men marching to their own funerals.
An eighty–nil advantage had been overturned in an instant by a single Golden Snitch.
Final score: Gryffindor 170, Slytherin 80.
“Damn it!” Flint slammed his broom against the ground.
“We were so close!” Morrin descended slowly.
He carried Black Swan in one hand, heat still radiating from its frame, but there was not the slightest frustration of defeat on his face.
He glanced at Harry, who was surrounded by cheering Gryffindors.
Then he looked at the system interface.
[Daily Check-In Complete: Quidditch Pitch (Debut)] [Reward: Extraction Attempts +2] [Remaining Extractions: 48] Lost the match.
Won at life.
Morrin patted Flint on the shoulder.
“Don’t look so miserable, Captain.
At least we proved one thing today, on the conventional battlefield, nobody in this school can beat us.” His gaze drifted towards the Golden Snitch.
“As for that Snitch…” Morrin looked across the pitch at Quirrell, who was still clutching his injured nose.
“…that was simply a necessary price for protecting something more important.” If Harry died, who was going to make it through the obstacles and retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone for him?
As far as Morrin was concerned, this match had been nothing more than an armed exercise conducted to protect a ‘core asset’.
“Come on, Draco.” Morrin beckoned towards the stunned Malfoy in the stands.
“Tell the kitchens we’re opening champagne in the Slytherin common room tonight.
We’re celebrating the fact that we now possess the strongest firepower in Hogwarts.” “But…
we lost,” Draco said weakly.
“We lost the score.” Morrin tossed his cane to Draco to carry, slipped both hands into his pockets, and walked away with his head held high.
“We won dominance.” He did not look back.
“Remember this, some victories never appear on the scoreboard.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ That evening, despite losing the match, the Slytherin common room was more lively than ever.
Morrin had kept his promise.
Unlimited Butterbeer and sweets from Honeydukes.
And the story of ‘Morrin White nearly demolishing the teachers’ stand’ quickly became an even more popular topic of conversation than Harry Potter swallowing the Golden Snitch.
No one knew that hidden inside that seemingly reckless fly by, an eleven year old boy had just saved the Boy Who Lived— from Lord Voldemort himself.