As eleven o'clock drew closer, it seemed the entire school had gathered in the stands around the Quidditch pitch.
Many students even brought binoculars, because the pitch was so large—Cohen felt he should have brought binoculars too; accurately locating Harry among several distant figures of the same color was quite difficult…
As the two teams emerged from the locker room, the entire pitch was engulfed in deafening cheers.
Compared to the enthusiastic spectators, Cohen felt something different.
He felt…hunger.
Stronger than ever before.
The students' faces and their voices vanished—only colorful, fluffy emotions remained in the air, like soft, fluffy cotton candy.
Food was everywhere!
Although he could usually easily ignore this hunger with reason, being placed in a place overflowing with positive emotions like this, Cohen couldn't resist.
Little gluttons are all like this…
No wonder the Dementors in the books couldn't resist sneaking into the Quidditch pitch—it really was a buffet.
"Cohen? Cohen! Harry's taking off!"
Ron's voice came from Cohen's left, but all Cohen saw when he turned his head was "edible joy," perhaps mixed with some "tension" and "anxiety"...
Cohen shook his head; this feeling was like being on drugs—so this is what the world a Dementor without eyes can "see" is like?
He didn't intend to indulge himself. Being "forced" to attack Harry was one thing, but losing control in public was another.
If Dumbledore came after him, Cohen could explain that he secretly cast a counter-spell to save Harry—but if he really started indulging in emotions on the field, he would be impossible to clear his name.
He was only a first-year student; he had to at least set a good example.
Cohen took a piece of candy out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. A sweet taste flooded his throat—comfortable!
Another day of saving Hogwarts from his own hands.
"Where's Harry?"
Cohen's eyes finally returned to normal, or rather, Cohen wasn't so hungry anymore.
"Harry's running around looking for the Snitch—but he doesn't seem to have seen him yet..." Ron said worriedly.
"That's brutal!"
Hermione saw Flint of the Slytherin deliberately bump into Harry—Harry's broomstick veered off course, but thankfully he managed to grab it.
"Foul!"
The surrounding Gryffindors roared in fury.
"Send him off! Referee! Red card!" Dean Thomas, sitting in the row in front of Cohen, yelled.
"This isn't football, Dean," Ron said, leaning almost out of the stands, watching the game closely as he reminded Dean, "You can't send someone off in Quidditch—and what's a red card?"
"Well—after that blatant and despicable cheating just now—" Gryffindor's Lee Jordan, as the announcer, was also finding it difficult to remain impartial.
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall growled beside the announcer's stand.
"I mean, after that public and offensive foul just now—"
"Jordan, I'm reminding you—"
"Okay, okay. Flint almost killed Gryffindor's Seeker, I'm sure anyone can do that, so Gryffindor, penalize!"
Just then, Cohen, who had been watching Harry closely, spotted the traces of the curse.
While learning dark magic from Quirrell, Cohen had also learned how to identify traces of magic—he was quite talented in this area, because magic was indeed strongly connected to the soul. With his ability to observe the soul, Cohen could clearly see the faint or strong magical trails in the air.
Quirrell had already begun.
Harry's broomstick suddenly trembled frighteningly, and then began to zigzag erratically through the air.
"I really don't know what Harry's trying to do…" Hagrid muttered, scrutinizing Harry through his binoculars. "If I didn't know him so well, I would have thought he couldn't control his broom—but he couldn't…"
Cohen followed Quirrell and chanted a curse towards Harry for three seconds, as long as the spell's trajectory was clear—so Quirrell and Voldemort wouldn't think Cohen was shirking his duties.
Harry's broom shook even more violently, as if he would fall at any moment, as he was only hanging in the air by gripping the broom handle tightly with both arms.
Cohen saw the trajectory of the third spell hit Harry's broom, again at the teachers' table.
Snape had struck!
"When Flint bumped into him just now, did the broom malfunction?" Seamus whispered in the front row.
"Impossible." Hagrid shook his head. "Nothing can interfere with a flying broom except powerful dark magic—a child couldn't cast such a spell on a Nimbus 2000."
Suddenly, Hermione grabbed Hagrid's binoculars. She didn't look up at Harry, but began anxiously scanning the crowd.
"What are you doing—" Ron was about to ask.
"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "It's Snape—look."
She handed the binoculars to Ron.
"He's up to no good—Cohen, what are you doing?!"
Hermione caught sight of Cohen, who was mimicking Snape's movements almost exactly.
"Huh? I'm up to no good—no, I'm protecting Harry, stop it—if I stop with the counterspell, he'll fall—"
Cohen quickly began chanting the counterspell.
"You can do that?!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, but she chose to believe Cohen.
Someone was definitely chanting a counterspell, otherwise Harry would have fallen long ago—Harry's broom was now maintaining an unstable balance, neither spinning like a washing machine nor floating steadily in the air for Harry to climb on.
It was as if two invisible men were fighting over the broom.
"I have an idea!"
Hermione exclaimed and disappeared into the audience.
Less than two minutes later, a commotion broke out in the teachers' section—Snape was on fire, physically.
Hermione slipped over and secretly set his robes on fire.
Meanwhile, Cohen naturally stopped his spell, as Quirrell's spell had also stopped.
Harry finally climbed onto his broom.
"Neville, you can see!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.
Neville had just been crying inside Hagrid's jacket.
The moment Harry climbed onto the broom, he began to dart towards the ground—and then…
Harry covered his mouth with his hand as if to vomit, and then landed on all fours.
"I caught it!"
He spat out a golden object.
"Gryffindor wins!" Madam Hooch announced.
[Ding! Goodwill +100]
[Note: You have regained a little conscience, not much, but enough.]
It's Christmas—Cohen is going to see his mother ( )
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(End of Chapter)