Chapter 178: Violence caused by black whistle

Quirrell sat in the stands, still wrapped in that unsightly turban.

Everyone around him kept their distance—his strange appearance made people uncomfortable.

But Quirrell didn't care about their avoidance. His eyes were locked tightly on Snape, who stood on the pitch. It had been him who ruined Quirrell's plans before.

If it hadn't been for Snape, Quirrell believed he would've already caused Harry to fall to his death. His master would have rewarded him.

And today, that man had actually requested to be the referee for this match—did he think that would stop Quirrell?

A faint smile tugged at Quirrell's lips. Perhaps because he was always pretending to stammer, the smile looked more like a muscle spasm.

But Quirrell would never let someone as insignificant as Snape stand in his way. Hadn't he already run him in circles? Even the so-called "Savior" Potter had turned his suspicions toward Snape, never once suspecting him.

Who would ever doubt poor, pitiful Quirrell?

Meanwhile, down on the field, Snape was also scanning the stands for Quirrell's location. He was here precisely to stop Quirrell from making another move—and to further deepen Harry Potter's suspicions of him.

Over the past days, through his observations, Snape had discovered that Harry's talent was far inferior to Eda's. He couldn't do any of the things Eda had managed in her first year.

Since that was the case, it was better to steer Harry away from the truth. The further he was from it, the less likely he would be harmed.

At that thought, Snape's expression grew darker. The bearded bastard on the 7th floor who had been watching the situation unfold—he neither intervened nor adjusted anything. It was as if he didn't care about Harry's safety at all.

While brooding, Snape suddenly saw Dumbledore appear on the pitch. He hadn't known the headmaster would be attending today's match; otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to apply as referee. Still, the Potions Master immediately understood the headmaster's intention.

Dumbledore's appearance didn't go unnoticed—Quirrell saw him too. Just a moment ago, Quirrell had been thinking about how he might discreetly kill Harry during the match. But the instant he saw the headmaster, his mind went completely blank.

Panic filled Quirrell's eyes, and the hands resting on his knees began to tremble uncontrollably. Over and over, he asked himself: What should I do? Have I been found out? Is it just Snape, or is damned Dumbledore suspicious of me too? What should I do?

As Quirrell was gripped by fear, a weak voice came from within his turban:

"Stay calm, you fool! Dumbledore hasn't grabbed you outright, has he? What are you afraid of?"

The voice sounded faint, as if just saying that one sentence had drained it of all energy. But even so, those few words brought Quirrell back to his senses. The panic that had consumed him moments ago quickly subsided.

Though his hands were still trembling slightly, it was far better than before.

Meanwhile, as both teams lined up and headed toward the field, Eda had only just arrived. After returning from the Forbidden Forest, she'd taken a quick shower before hurrying over—so she arrived a bit later than Dumbledore.

This match was getting a lot of attention; nearly the entire school had shown up. Eda had to squeeze her way through the crowd just to get a spot in the stands.

Because there were so many people, students from all houses were mixed together, unlike the usual neatly divided arrangement.

On the field, referee Snape's calls were clearly favoring Hufflepuff. He awarded them a free shot for no apparent reason.

If this kind of refereeing happened in the Muggle world, there would probably be a crowd shouting that Snape had been bribed to rig the game.

Eda thought: Professor Snape's real intention is to protect Harry, while also giving Hufflepuff a boost. But since Dumbledore's here today, he no longer needs to protect Harry—he just needs to help Hufflepuff along.

No surprise—it was Snape, the man whose bias ran all the way up to his armpits. No wonder he was the head of Slytherin House.

Such blatant favoritism wasn't going to sit well with the Gryffindor players. Their eyes were practically shooting flames—they looked ready to knock Snape off his broomstick.

Even the favored Hufflepuffs were baffled. They were thinking, Is Professor Snape really that close with Professor Sprout?

One taught Potions, the other Herbology—it gave off a sort of "you draw water, I till the fields" vibe. If the pairing weren't so mismatched, these little badgers might've already started imagining a campus romance.

Back on the field, the ever-bold Weasley twins had had enough and were ready to strike back. The two brothers really couldn't take it anymore.

George swung his bat with all his might, sending a Bludger flying straight toward Snape. If the Potions Master hadn't dodged in time, that hit might've landed him a long stay in the hospital wing.

The twins hadn't originally planned on going this far, but Snape's calls had been so outrageously unfair that George just couldn't hold back. That's why he sent the ball flying at him.

From the stands, Eda banged her hand hard against the railing. In her view, George's move was far too impulsive.

Snape was the kind of person who could invent a reason to penalize you even when you'd done nothing wrong—of course he wasn't going to let a gift-wrapped opportunity like this slip by.

Sure enough, Snape blew his whistle again. Hufflepuff was awarded another penalty shot, and the Gryffindors in the crowd erupted in boos.

The interrupted match resumed. Just then, Harry, who'd been circling above like a hawk, suddenly went into a sharp dive—he'd spotted the Golden Snitch.

Cedric only took off after Harry had already moved—how could he possibly keep up with a Nimbus 2000? But really, it wasn't his fault.

Snape's bizarre refereeing had left the entire Hufflepuff team in a state of confusion.

The repeated interruptions to the game had also taken a toll on the players' focus. Cedric was clearly not as mentally prepared as Harry, who had been anticipating the opportunity.

Watching Cedric react a split second too late, Eda knew the match was as good as won. She turned her head toward the back of the stands, where a commotion had broken out.

She'd already heard shouting behind her earlier, and honestly, it sounded way more interesting than a game constantly disrupted by the referee.

What she saw caught her by surprise: Ron—long-limbed and lanky—was shockingly agile. In one swift motion, he vaulted over a seat and launched himself at Malfoy, slamming him to the ground.

Ron and Malfoy quickly became a tangled mess on the floor, fists flying. Even more unexpected was Neville—usually the timid one—who had stepped up in a big way. He took on Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's two hulking bodyguards, all by himself.

Though he was getting badly beaten by the two, Neville clung to them tightly, refusing to let go. His effort gave Ron the chance for a one-on-one brawl with Malfoy. It was a touching scene to witness.

Ron had a house full of older brothers—taking down a pampered little prince like Malfoy was well within his skill set.

Eda pushed through the crowd of cheering and shouting students and made her way to the scene.

Goyle was straddling Neville and punching down at him, while Crabbe had just broken free and was heading to help Malfoy.

As Crabbe stood up, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Without thinking, he swung his fist backward—only to hit empty air. He turned around, furious, and froze when he saw the blonde girl standing behind him. His fist stopped in midair.

Eda smiled sweetly at Crabbe. Although Snape usually looked out for Malfoy, Eda swore to herself that she was only here to break up the fight—she had absolutely no intention of settling personal scores.

But the big oaf in front of her didn't seem to appreciate the gesture. Instead, he kept smashing his face into Eda's right hand. Wasn't that just bullying? If word got out, how would she maintain her reputation at school?

After taking a few hits, as if realizing his face wasn't damaging enough, Crabbe flopped to the ground and began to fake an injury—there was no way this would end without a hundred Galleons in hush money.

The delicate and helpless Eda backed away in distress, only to accidentally bump into Goyle, who was still pinning Neville down. Fierce-looking Goyle showed no mercy to the fragile Eda either, and proceeded to pummel her left hand with his face just as mercilessly.

Standing in the seats, Hermione was screaming with joy, celebrating the victory of the match. Behind her, the scene of Slytherins bullying Gryffindors went completely unnoticed.

By the time Hermione finally turned around, she saw Crabbe and Goyle lying on the ground, faces swollen like pig heads, pretending to be victims. Ron and Neville were now being "bullied" by Malfoy all by himself.

And then there was Eda, standing to the side, her face full of grievance, waving her hands as if they ached.

Indeed, force always acts in pairs—slapping someone, no—being repeatedly punched by someone's face—was really quite painful.

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