Chapter 60 Complete Lack of Sportsmanship

According to the rules of Quidditch, the team that catches the Golden Snitch is awarded one hundred and fifty points.

At the same time, catching the Snitch brings an immediate end to the match.

This means that unless the score gap between the two teams exceeds one hundred and fifty points, the side that catches the Snitch will secure the victory.

Therefore, the moment the Golden Snitch appeared, Harry and the Slytherin Seeker dashed toward it without a moment's hesitation.

They launched at nearly the exact same time, flying neck and neck in the beginning.

However, as the youngest Seeker in a century, Harry’s reputation was well-deserved.

Despite starting simultaneously, a unique flying posture and equipment advantage allowed him to pull a full body length ahead of his opponent in no time.

Anyone with even a shred of discernment could see that, barring any accidents, Harry was bound to capture the Golden Snitch.

Taking in this scene, Snape's expression was unreadable, though a flash of unmistakable disgust crossed his eyes.

Not far from his right hand, Quirrell gazed fixedly at Harry, his eyes narrowing sharply.

Hermione, who had been hiding nearby well in advance, gripped her wand tightly upon seeing this.

Was the move finally being made?

Just as Harry was about to reach the Snitch, a sudden change occurred.

With a loud crash, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint flew in from the side, slamming directly into Harry.

Struck by the heavy impact, the Nimbus Two Thousand beneath Harry violently veered off course.

Fortunately, having been warned by Sherlock beforehand, Harry had maintained ample mental preparation.

When the sudden crisis struck, he immediately clung tightly to his broomstick.

A wave of fierce booing erupted instantly across the stands.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle to halt the match immediately.

Furious, she flew right up to Flint, vehemently condemning his behavior.

She then awarded Gryffindor a penalty shot right in front of the goalposts.

"Flint did that on purpose!"

Ron roared angrily.

Dean shouted even louder, "A deliberate foul! Send him off, referee! Give him a red card!"

"You can't send people off in Quidditch," Ron muttered, feeling somewhat regretful upon hearing Dean. "Besides, what's a red card?"

Hagrid voiced his agreement with Thomas at that moment. "They ought to change the rules. Flint nearly knocked Harry right off his broom up there."

"He'll pay for this."

Looking at the towering figure of Flint, Sherlock said it quietly.

Ron, Hagrid, Dean, and the others suddenly felt the surrounding temperature drop by several degrees.

As Angelina Johnson scored the penalty, bringing the score to twenty-to-ten and putting Gryffindor back in the lead, the suspended match resumed.

Yet, with all this commotion, the Golden Snitch had vanished from everyone's sight.

It was undeniably disappointing.

Harry, however, breathed a sigh of relief.

Thanks to Sherlock’s warning, he had remained tense throughout.

He had even suspected for a moment that Flint’s brutal collision was Quirrell’s doing.

Now, however, it appeared to be merely the opponent's individual misconduct.

It made Harry wonder if the fellow possessed any questionable sportsmanship running in his veins.

After mentally condemning his opponent, a somewhat idle Harry, cruising high in the air, couldn't help a thought from popping into his head:

"Could Sherlock have gotten it wrong?

Even if Quirrell really wanted to harm me, he wouldn't be mad enough to do it right in front of the entire school..."

Yet, the moment this thought crossed his mind, his flying broom gave a terrifying, violent jerk.

"Shit!"

Harry cursed angrily.

Discarding all wishful thinking, he instantly threw all four limbs into action, gripping the broom tightly with his hands while clamping his knees hard against the shaft.

Barely a second later, he realized how wise that decision had been.

The Nimbus Two Thousand, which had previously responded to his touch like an extension of his own body, completely ignored his control and began darting wildly across the sky.

Worse still, it was accompanied by violent side-to-side swaying.

Clearly, the broomstick intended to buck its master off into the abyss during a continuous spiral ascent.

Sherlock was naturally the first to spot Harry's abnormal situation.

He promptly swung his binoculars toward Quirrell.

Sure enough, Quirrell was staring fixedly at Harry through his lenses.

Curiously, the man’s lips were not moving as one might have expected.

Sherlock realized it instantly.

Good grief, it was a non-verbal curse!

He quickly shifted his focus to Snape.

Snape wasn't staring at Harry the way Quirrell was, likely because he hadn't yet realized what was happening.

Mainly, Slytherin had just put the Quaffle through Gryffindor's goal hoops to tie the score again, drawing the attention of almost everyone, including Snape.

Still, Snape was Snape; he noticed the trouble before long and began reacting immediately.

At this point, only a handful of people noticed the Nimbus Two Thousand acting like it had gone mad, twitching and twisting wildly as it carried Harry higher and higher, far away from the pitch.

Ron, who had been strictly instructed by Sherlock, panicked instantly: "Sherlock!"

"I really don't know what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid muttered, still oblivious to the gravity of the situation. "If I didn't know him better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom..."

"You're not wrong," Sherlock said with a steely gaze, handing his binoculars to Ron. "Keep your eyes on him!"

The "him" he referred to was, of course, Snape.

Ron snatched the binoculars and saw Snape standing in the middle of the opposite stands, his eyes locked onto Harry, his lips moving continuously in a rapid incantation.

"What is he doing? Is he cursing him?"

"Quite the opposite. He's protecting Harry!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Sherlock raised his wand.

A burst of purple fireworks erupted from the tip.

Having obtained the desired answer, it was time to make a move.

By now, even the densest onlookers realized something was terribly wrong.

Lee Jordan spoke at a breakneck pace: "What's wrong with Potter? His broomstick seems to be malfunctioning! Good heavens, he has no control over himself!"

Madam Hooch looked somewhat bewildered, hesitating over whether she should halt the match.

At that exact moment, Marcus Flint demonstrated his utter lack of sportsmanship once again, seizing the opportunity to score three consecutive goals with the Quaffle.

Yet, Gryffindor's players had all their attention focused on Harry and ignored him completely.

The rest of the team converged toward Harry, attempting to herd him back to a safe zone first.

Before they could get close, however, the broom shot upward once more, leaving them far behind in the dust.

In the stands on the opposite side, Hermione, lying in wait near Quirrell, watched Harry's plight with agony in her heart.

Just like Sherlock, she had deduced that Quirrell was casting a non-verbal curse.

Yet, remembering Sherlock's prior warning, she forced her patience and held back from interfering.

Burning with anxiety, her gaze darted repeatedly between Harry, Quirrell, and the spot below the banner where Sherlock stood.

Several times she was on the verge of taking action, but she ultimately chose to trust Sherlock.

Interlacing her fingers over her knees, she prayed silently for Harry's safety.

Finally.

A burst of purple fireworks rose from the direction of the banner.

Hermione instantly recognized it as the signal from Sherlock.

Without a second thought, she drew her wand and muttered the incantation she had prepared long ago.

Moments later, bright blue flames burst from the tip of her wand, darting straight toward the hem of Quirrell's robes.