“I think Professor Cromwell must be an ancient wizard who has lived in seclusion for hundreds of years,” Hermione said while studying her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror.
At the moment she looked exactly like Vincent Crabbe.
“What are you talking about?” Harry replied from beside her.
His illusion copied Gregory Goyle’s large frame.
“Professor Cromwell doesn’t even look forty.” “Appearances mean nothing,” Ron said from his seat beside the sink.
“Nicolas Flamel lived for more than six hundred years.” The three of them were practicing [Disguise Self] inside the abandoned bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle.
A flash of magic passed over Harry and Hermione.
Their disguises vanished and revealed their real appearances once more.
“If Professor Cromwell hasn’t lived for hundreds of years, I don’t understand how he created so many spells,” Hermione continued.
“Most witches and wizards would be considered brilliant if they invented one original spell in their entire lives.” She raised her wand toward the far side of the bathroom.
“[Magic Missile].” Three darts of red magical energy shot from the tip.
One struck a broken toilet seat.
Another hit the stone pillar in the center of the room.
The final projectile flew into the sink beside Ron and left a smoking mark.
“[Magic Missile] is only a first-circle spell,” Hermione said.
“It automatically tracks its target and almost never misses.
How could a wizard younger than forty invent something so simple and effective?” Ever since she successfully learned [Disguise Self], Hermione’s exceptional talent for study had revealed itself again.
In only a few days she had already mastered several of Leon’s spells.
Her opinion of the new professor had also changed completely.
The resistance she showed during his first lesson had become admiration and respect.
“You make it sound easy,” Harry complained.
“I’ve tried [Magic Missile] several times and still can’t cast it.” Aside from [Disguise Self], Harry had only managed to use the simple cantrip [Mage Hand].
“Don’t ask me how Sorcerer spellcasting works,” Hermione replied as she put away her wand.
“Your magic relies on instinct.
Mine requires structure.” She looked between Harry and Ron.
“After the Quidditch match tomorrow, we should finally question Malfoy.” “Give me a few more days,” Harry said.
“Whenever I disguise myself as Goyle, I either make him too handsome or somehow even uglier.
Malfoy will notice immediately.” “Being ugly shouldn’t be a problem,” Ron said as he climbed down from the sink.
“Goyle is already ugly.” The three left the bathroom together.
Harry awoke early the next morning.
Gryffindor was playing Slytherin.
Every member of the opposing team now possessed a Nimbus 2001 that Lucius Malfoy had purchased for them.
The difference in equipment placed enormous pressure on Harry.
Dark clouds covered the sky outside his dormitory window.
Rain threatened to fall at any moment.
Harry remained in bed for several minutes but his anxiety only grew stronger.
He eventually dressed and headed to the Great Hall.
The rest of the Gryffindor team had already arrived.
They sat around the long table with untouched food in front of them.
Every player looked tense.
By eleven o’clock the rain had become a violent thunderstorm.
Inside the locker room Oliver Wood delivered his usual pregame speech.
This time his voice carried far more anger than confidence.
“A Seeker needs more than a rich father and an expensive broom.
Harry, you must catch the Golden Snitch before Malfoy does.” Wood was furious after weeks of insults and provocation from the Slytherin team.
Harry nodded without answering.
The scar on his forehead had been aching since morning.
He assumed the pain came from the storm and tried to ignore it.
Harry took his Nimbus 2000 and followed the team outside.
Freezing rain struck his face as soon as he entered the field.
Each drop felt like a needle against his skin.
Even with protective goggles his vision remained blurred.
His robes became soaked within seconds and clung heavily to his body.
“Madam Hooch has blown the whistle!
The match has begun!” Lee Jordan’s commentary reached the field in broken fragments beneath the thunder.
Harry climbed above the other players and began searching for the Golden Snitch.
A terrifying rush of air came from behind him.
Whoosh!
A black iron Bludger shot past his head and grazed his cheek.
“Watch out, Harry!” George Weasley raced toward him and struck the Bludger with his bat.
The ball flew across the field at incredible speed.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” George shouted.
“It’s acting like a rabid dog!” The Bludger ignored every other player.
It turned through the air in an impossible arc and charged toward Harry again.
No matter how sharply Harry climbed or dropped, the enchanted ball continued to follow him.
He circled the field and stopped without warning.
The Bludger adjusted each time and remained locked onto him.
Fred and George were forced to stay near Harry so they could knock it away.
That left the rest of the Gryffindor team exposed to the Slytherin Beaters.
Oliver Wood shouted from the goalposts.
“Harry!
Deal with that Bludger or catch the Snitch!
We’re going to lose!” “I’ll try!” Rain poured into Harry’s mouth as he answered.
To prevent the Bludger from disrupting the entire team, Harry pulled his broom upward and climbed into the heavy clouds.
The iron ball followed him.
At that height the wind became painfully cold.
Harry’s fingers were almost numb and he could barely keep hold of the broom.
Water covered his glasses.
He was forced to rely on instinct each time the Bludger attacked.
“Damn it…” Harry twisted aside and narrowly avoided another strike.
The Bludger clipped the rear of his broom.
The impact threw him sideways and almost tore him from the handle.
A green figure suddenly raced past.
Draco Malfoy flew on his Nimbus 2001 with his body pressed low against the broom.
His eyes were fixed on a faint golden light moving through the clouds.
The Snitch.
Harry tried to follow him.
The rogue Bludger returned.
It charged directly toward Harry with terrifying speed.
He had no room to dodge.
A hit at this altitude could shatter several bones or knock him from his broom.
The match would be over even if he survived the fall.
Hermione’s words from the previous evening suddenly echoed through his thoughts.
A first-circle spell.
[Magic Missile] locks onto its target and is almost guaranteed to hit.
Harry decided to try.
He released one hand from the broom and struggled to draw his wand through the storm.
Just as he had done with [Disguise Self], Harry focused on a single image.
He did not think about a spell model or magical theory.
Only one command filled his mind.
Destroy it.
Magic surged through his body.
Then the scar on his forehead burned.
A violent power emerged from somewhere deep within his soul.
It mixed with Harry’s natural magic before rushing through his arm and into the holly wand.
The Bludger was less than six feet away.
“[Magic Missile]!” A thick beam of dark green energy erupted from the wand.
Boom!
The blast struck the iron Bludger head-on.
The enchanted ball exploded into metal dust and jagged fragments.
A trail of black energy remained suspended in the air before slowly fading beneath the rain.
The recoil nearly threw Harry from his broom.
He managed to steady himself and looked forward.
With the Bludger gone, nothing blocked the path between him and the Snitch.
Harry pressed himself against the broom and accelerated.
He shot through the cloud of iron fragments like a bullet.
The Golden Snitch suddenly turned to the right.
Malfoy reacted too slowly.
Harry reached out and closed his fingers around the struggling golden ball.
“Harry Potter caught the Snitch!” Lee Jordan screamed.
“Gryffindor wins!” The Gryffindor supporters erupted.
In the faculty stands Professor McGonagall had already risen from her seat.
She clapped with unusual enthusiasm and shouted across the field.
“Well done, Harry!” Hagrid and Dumbledore also stood and applauded as Harry descended toward the rain-soaked ground.
Leon Cromwell remained seated beside Hagrid.
He stared at the place where the Bludger had been destroyed.
His expression had become extremely serious.
“[Eldritch Blast]?” No one else had recognized the dark green beam or the black energy left behind.
Leon could never mistake it.
“That’s impossible.” He had never taught anyone about Warlocks.
He had not even shared that section of the D&D system with Dumbledore.
Leon had deliberately hidden the class because of its reliance on supernatural patrons and binding pacts.
He feared that introducing such contracts could attract dangerous beings or interfere with the rules of this world.
Yet Harry had just used the Warlock class’s most recognizable cantrip.
The spell Harry believed was [Magic Missile] had actually been something else entirely.
[Eldritch Blast].