Time flew by, and two more days passed in the blink of an eye.
Charlie woke up from a pleasant dream in Charms Class.
Professor Flitwick was standing at the podium, explaining a new Spell.
Seeing that Charlie was awake, he turned a blind eye and ignored him.
When the class bell rang, Charlie packed his things, ready to leave.
Ron excitedly ran over and grabbed Charlie's arm.
"Charlie! Come with me quickly."
"Why are you so excited?" Charlie stumbled as Ron pulled him.
"By the rampaging Mountain Giant, don't you know?"
"Today is the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match!" Ron's eyes were practically glowing.
"And Harry is on the team too."
"I heard Fred say Harry is really good; we're definitely going to win the match."
Charlie remembered; today was indeed match day.
That meant fun! In his previous life, one of his greatest pleasures was watching ball games; he wondered how a magic world ball game differed from football.
"Wait a moment."
Charlie stopped the impatient Ron.
"Billy."
With a pop, Billy appeared in the corridor, startling Ron.
"What does the Young Wizard need?" Billy asked respectfully.
Charlie took a Galleon from his pocket and handed it to Billy.
Every week, Charlie would give Billy a Galleon; otherwise, why would someone keep looking after him?
In reality, compared to Billy's service, one Galleon was pitifully small.
But when Charlie wanted to give Billy more, Billy would refuse, believing that what Charlie gave was enough, and he was even very grateful to Charlie.
"Please get me some braised dishes—braised chicken legs, braised eggs, braised dried tofu, anything is fine."
How could one watch a ball game without snacks? It was a shame he couldn't have a little drink.
Ron watched, dumbfounded.
"You can do that?"
Billy quickly returned with a large bag of fragrant braised dishes.
The rich aroma wafted through the air, making passing students involuntarily swallow.
"Let's go, we can go watch the match now."
The two walked together towards the Quidditch Pitch.
The stadium was packed with people; students from all four houses had come.
Hermione, Neville, and Seamus had already secured excellent seats; they had a banner made from a bedsheet, depicting a huge lion.
Hermione had even used magic to make the lion move, roaring majestically.
Hagrid was also sitting next to them.
"Here! Here!"
Neville waved at Charlie and the others.
When the group saw that Charlie had brought a lot of food, Neville and Seamus immediately cheered up.
"Oh! Charlie, you're so thoughtful!" Seamus rubbed his hands together.
"Matches with good food, we should have done this sooner."
Hermione frowned, seeming to want to say something about breaking school rules, but she didn't speak.
Ever since the Troll incident, she wasn't as resistant to breaking rules anymore.
Soon, both teams entered the field.
The Gryffindor players wore bright red uniforms, while Slytherin wore green.
Harry was among them, riding his Nimbus 2000, waving to his friends in the stands.
"Go, Harry!" Ron shouted loudly.
The match officially began.
Madam Hooch threw the Quaffle high into the air, and fourteen players instantly soared into the sky.
Commentator Lee Jordan began his passionate commentary.
"The match begins! Gryffindor gets the Quaffle first!"
"Angelina Johnson breaks through with the ball, a beautiful feint!"
Charlie listened to the commentary while leisurely gnawing on a braised chicken leg, feeling utterly content.
Mmm, watching the match and eating braised dishes, that was truly authentic.
In the sky, Harry was intently searching for the Golden Snitch.
As a Seeker, his task was to catch the Golden Snitch, earning 150 points for his team.
But from the teachers' seats, where he couldn't see, Professor Quirrell was darkly staring at Harry in the sky.
His eyes gleamed with malicious light, and a strange smile played on his lips.
Quirrell silently sought credit from his master.
"Master, I will make Potter fall to his death in front of everyone, which will eliminate him and make it seem like an accident."
He began to mutter a Spell, cursing Harry's broom.
In the sky, Harry suddenly felt his broom begin to shake uncontrollably.
Harry's heart instantly leaped to his throat; he gripped the broomstick tightly and clamped his legs around the broom.
"What's going on?"
"Did Malfoy really find someone to curse me?"
Harry tried to steady the broom, but the feeling of losing control grew stronger and stronger.
The broom began to sway from side to side, and its altitude was rapidly dropping.
Gasps of alarm rose from the audience below.
"What's wrong with Harry? Surely no one is actually cursing him, right?" Ron stood up nervously.
"It doesn't look right." Hermione frowned.
Charlie pulled out his wand; if Harry fell, he could catch him with a Levitation Charm.
Just then, Harry's broom suddenly emitted a faint glow.
Under the sunlight, it was inconspicuous, like the broom reflecting light.
Everyone in the stands was drawn to Harry's dangerous situation; no one noticed this detail.
Harry felt the broom become obedient again and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Professor McGonagall's magic must have worked."
"Good thing I listened to Charlie."
Harry secretly rejoiced.
Although the situation was perilous, the match continued, and Harry, eager for victory, kept searching for the Golden Snitch.
In the teachers' seats, the Professors were focused on the match.
Harry's earlier predicament had startled them too.
A certain greasy-haired Professor had initially suspected a curse and was about to try to counter it, but when he saw Harry stop, he dismissed his doubts.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from behind them.
"What was that sound?" Professor Snape turned around.
The other Professors also turned their heads, but the seats behind them were empty; there was nothing there.
"Wasn't Professor Quirrell just sitting behind us?" Professor Sprout asked, puzzled.
"Where is he?"
Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at the empty back row of seats, a deep meaning flashing in his eyes.
At this moment, behind the teachers' seats, Quirrell was scrambling to his feet, disheveled.
He had been enthusiastically muttering the curse when he suddenly felt a powerful force rebound, directly flinging him from his seat.
His head hit the ground hard, making his eyes swim with stars from the pain.
Even worse, Lord Voldemort was parasitic on the back of his head.
The impact had really shaken the Dark Lord.
"Idiot!" Lord Voldemort's voice roared in Quirrell's mind.
"What did you do?"
"Master, I don't know!" Quirrell clutched the back of his head, grimacing in pain.
"I was clearly cursing Potter's broom, how did it suddenly..."
"Shut up!" Lord Voldemort was furious.
"You useless lump, you can't even deal with a child!"
Intense pain shot from the back of his head; it was Lord Voldemort punishing him.
Quirrell writhed on the ground in pain but dared not cry out loudly, afraid of being discovered.
"Master, spare me." Quirrell begged in a low, pained whisper.
"I truly don't know what happened."
Quirrell's pathetic appearance made Lord Voldemort even angrier.
The thought that he, the mighty Dark Lord, was now reduced to parasitizing a wretch like Quirrell.
He intensified the torment in his rage.
Another piercing pain struck, and Quirrell couldn't help but start to sob softly.
He hid in the shadows behind the teachers' seats, covering his mouth and weeping bitterly.
In the stands, Charlie put down his wand, and suddenly the system's notification sound rang out.
"[Because of His Majesty, the teacher cried bitterly, tyrant points +5!]"
"???"
Charlie looked utterly bewildered.
"What did I do? I was just watching the match here?"
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