Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 279 Slytherin Who Loves to Use Underhanded Tactics

She tilted her head slightly towards Dylan as a way of expressing her gratitude: "My hat scared a lot of people, so I wanted to show it to you."

Dylan laughed and said, "Indeed, it's quite vivid. It's normal for others to be scared, but I think it's very cute."

Luna paused, a glint of light flashing in her hazy eyes.

She then turned her attention back to the competition.

"Beautiful! Angelina Johnson beautifully faked out Monta! She's on her way—watch out! Angelina, there's a ball on the left!"

Lee Jordan's voice suddenly rose, tinged with a hint of suspense.

Followed by.

A muffled "thump" came from the speakers.

He clearly slammed his fist on the table in his excitement.

"She dodged it! And she scored! Ten to zero—Gryffindor is in the lead!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands.

The students stood up and waved their scarves.

Several Gryffindor students around Dylan excitedly high-fived each other.

Angelina proudly raised her chin on the broom and even glided a short distance around the Gryffindor stands, basking in the cheers of her companions.

"Ouch—" A cry of surprise suddenly rang out.

Suddenly, Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, appeared out of nowhere.

He rode his broomstick straight toward Angelina.

His movements were so fast and fierce that Angelina was caught off guard and nearly fell off the broom.

Fortunately, she reacted quickly and managed to steady herself by gripping the broom handle tightly.

"I'm sorry~"

Marcus Flint slowed down, turned to look at Angelina, a wicked smile playing on his lips. His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but loud enough for everyone around to hear.

"I didn't see you here..."

His apology was completely insincere, and his eyes were full of provocation.

An angry chorus of boos erupted from the stands.

The Gryffindor students, in particular, were so angry that they started cursing loudly.

Mrs. Hodge frowned and pointed in the direction of Marcus Flint.

It was clearly a warning to him to behave, but Marcus just shrugged and rode his broom back to his group, unconcerned.

Flint's wicked smile hadn't even fully spread across his face yet.

A solid, dull pain shot through the back of my head.

It was Fred Weasley who swung his club almost instinctively, the tip striking Flint squarely on the back of the head.

The blow was so powerful that Flint felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and his body lurched forward uncontrollably, his nose slamming solidly into the cold, hard broom handle.

With a soft "snap," it sounded like a small twig being broken.

Flint gasped in pain, his vision blurring with stars.

He swayed unsteadily, feeling dizzy and disoriented, and it took him a while to regain his balance.

When I raised my hand to touch my nose, my fingertips were immediately covered in a warm, sticky liquid.

When he groggily raised his head, he could clearly see that his nose was crooked at an odd angle, and two streams of bright red blood were gushing out.

The blood trickled down the philtrum, past the slightly trembling lips, and dripped onto the team uniform on the chest, spreading out a small patch of glaring red.

His once arrogant eyes were now filled with pain and rage, staring intently at Fred as if he were about to breathe fire.

"enough!"

Mrs. Hooch's roar was like a thunderclap from a clear sky, instantly drowning out the clamor from the stands.

She rode her broom and darted between Fred and Flint.

A small gust of air was stirred up at the end of the broom.

Her brows furrowed, her already stern face now covered in frost, her gaze sweeping back and forth between the two of them, her voice filled with anger.

"Fred Weasley, for attacking an opposing player with a baseball bat without provocation, Gryffindor penalty!"

She paused, then turned to Flint, who was covering his nose and had a ferocious expression.

"Marcus Flint, deliberately collided with the opposing player chasing the ball, an egregious act, Slytherin, penalty! — Everyone, behave yourselves!"

She practically roared out the last few words, with an undeniable air of authority.

Dylan stood in the stands, taking in the whole scene. He let out a soft sigh, a hint of helplessness creeping into his eyes.

"That's why I don't like Quidditch."

He spoke in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the tense atmosphere on the field and the students in the stands blaming each other.

"If I were to go up and fight Slytherin, I would definitely make them make an unbreakable vow before the match."

Luna turned her head to the side, still speaking in that light and airy tone.

As she spoke, she slowly swayed her head, ensuring that the lion-headed hat on her head always faced Flint.

The hat, which Dylan had enchanted with an animation spell, seemed to sense its owner's emotions.

Every now and then, it would open its mouth and let out a deafening roar, its fluffy mane trembling slightly with Luna's movements.

Luna's gaze, however, seemed to pierce through the arena before her, landing on some distant and unknown place.

The free throws began quickly.

On the Gryffindor side, Arya Spinnet, holding the Quaffle, took a deep breath and stared intently at the Slytherin goal.

She took a few steps and threw the ball out with a bang. The Quaffle drew a straight arc in the air and precisely avoided the goalkeeper's outstretched arm.

It darted into the goal circle with a "whoosh".

"Great shot!" The Gryffindor students in the stands cheered immediately.

When it was Slytherin's turn to take the penalty, Warrington gripped the Quaffle, a fierce look on his face.

He threw the ball forcefully toward the Gryffindor goal.

However, Wood was prepared. He leaped up nimbly, stretched out his long arm, and steadily blocked the ball outside the goal.

"Fantastic, Wood!" The Gryffindor stands erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers once again.

At this moment, the score is 20 to 0, with Gryffindor temporarily in the lead.

Harry Potter continued to hover high in the sky, his sharp gaze sweeping across every corner of the arena, not daring to relax for a moment.

The Golden Snitch has not yet appeared.

But he knew that Malfoy must be searching somewhere as well.

According to the rules of Quidditch.

You can get 150 points as long as you catch the Golden Thief.

Therefore, he must close out the Gryffindor lead by at least fifty points to secure the victory for his team.

The pressure weighed heavily on his heart, keeping his nerves constantly on edge, and making him more cautious in his flight than usual.

He would occasionally catch a glimpse of Malfoy in the distance, the man also looking around anxiously.

at this time.

Lee Jordan's excited voice came through the loudspeaker again, but this time it was tinged with obvious anger. "...Look! It's Katie Bell! Good girl! Katie Bell of Gryffindor got the Quaffle—she's flying across the field—it's on purpose!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than a loud bang came from the loudspeaker, clearly indicating that he had slammed his hand on the table again.

On the field, everyone's eyes were focused on Katie Bell.

She was moving forward rapidly with the Quaffle, at an extremely fast speed.

Monty, the Chaser of Slytherin, somehow appeared in front of her. Instead of trying to snatch the Quaffle, he stretched out his arm and grabbed straight at Kitty's head with a swift and vicious motion.

At the critical moment.

Katie suddenly somersaulted in the air, her body almost parallel to the broom.

Her movements were extremely dangerous, her long hair scattering in the air and then falling back down.

He managed to keep his balance and didn't fall off the broom.

But the Quaffle still slipped from her grasp and rolled to the edge of the arena.

A deafening roar and boos erupted from the stands. The Gryffindor students, their faces flushed with anger, stood up and pointed at Monta, hurling insults.

The Slytherin stands were silent, with only a few people wearing malicious smiles.

Upon seeing this, Luna's previously unfocused gaze instantly sharpened.

She suddenly stretched out her hands and slammed them hard against the railing in front of her, making a crisp "smack" sound.

At the same time, the lion-headed hat on her head opened its mouth wide and let out a deafening roar, her amber eyes glaring angrily in Monta's direction.

"How despicable! How despicable!" Luna herself, along with the hat, opened her mouth and roared.

She tried to furrow her brow, attempting to make a ferocious expression.

But those eyes, which always held a hint of confusion, made her anger seem less intimidating and more like a childlike earnestness.

Dylan, standing to the side, couldn't help but twitch his lips slightly when he saw Luna's expression.

He quickly pursed his lips to keep his smile from showing.

"It's not funny."

Luna, however, seemed to have eyes in the back of her head.

He suddenly turned his head and looked at Dylan with a serious expression.

Her voice was soft, and her gaze went straight into Dylan's eyes.

Dylan's smile vanished instantly.

He nodded, his expression turning serious.

He looked at Monta on the field, who was shamelessly shaking off his empty hand, with a hint of regret on his face for not succeeding.

Dylan’s eyes showed obvious contempt, and he said in a deep voice, “You’re right, this is not funny at all. This is a rather despicable violation.”

Dylan looked at the Slytherin players on the field, who showed no remorse whatsoever, and then glanced at the unanimous indignation on the faces of the three house students around him. Suddenly, he understood.

No wonder I saw so many Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students gathered in the hallway when I came out of the Gryffindor common room this morning.

The morning light had just begun to spill over the castle's spires.

The Hufflepuff students clutched small embroidered balls tied with yellow and black ribbons, and would smile as they stuff them into the hands of the Gryffindor members.

Several Ravenclaw girls next to the portrait of the fat monk were holding up a parchment banner that read "May Gryffindor be victorious."

Even under the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, who is usually always holding a book, several upperclassmen were giving Harry and his friends tactical hand signals.

Angelina blushed and scratched her head, saying she hadn't expected to receive so much encouragement.

Wood, with a stern face, said that they absolutely could not lose.

Such a scene would be absolutely impossible for Slytherin.

It's amazing that Slytherins have managed to get to where they are in Hogwarts.

If they lose the game, the other three colleges can get together for a celebration.

Even house-elves would secretly put a couple more syrup pies on the Gryffindor table.

—The members of the Slytherin Quidditch team throughout the ages have truly made invaluable contributions.

After all, in the arena, using tactics to counter your opponent is one thing.

Like Slytherin.

From the seeker to the batter, fouls are commonplace.

When hitting someone, he would deliberately strike their wrist where they were holding the broom, and when intercepting someone, he would intentionally use his knee to hit their lower back.

Even the goalkeeper dared to secretly trip the opponent when they were taking a penalty kick.

— Which academy can tolerate such blatant and shameless behavior?
Mrs. Huo Qi on the field was clearly also unable to contain her anger.

She circled in front of Monta on her broom, her silver-gray hair standing on end in anger, and the silver whistle in her hand creaking in her grip.

"Monte! Do you think I can't see this? Reaching out to grab an opposing player's head? This is Quidditch, not a gladiatorial arena!"

Her voice carried far through the wind, "Gryffindor gets another free throw! If it happens again, you're ejected from the game!"

Monta lowered his head, rubbing his fingers on the broom handle, muttering, "I didn't mean to."

But everyone could clearly see the nonchalant smile at the corner of his mouth.

Katie Bell's knuckles were burning hot when she picked up the Quaffle again.

Mengtai's fingernails almost scratched her cheek just now, and she still feels lingering fear when she thinks about it.

She took a deep breath, brushed the stray hairs from her forehead behind her ear, and stared intently at the Slytherin goalpost with a mixture of anger and determination in her eyes.

The sound of his footsteps during the run-up was heavier than before, and the moment he threw the ball, he even created a gust of wind.

The Quaffle grazed the goalkeeper's fingertips and slammed into the iron post inside the goal with a "thud," making the goal frame shake.

"Thirty to zero! Gryffindor leads by thirty points!"

Lee Jordan's voice was like a lit firecracker, making the whole stadium buzz.

Dylan could almost see what he looked like through the loudspeaker.

With one foot on the wooden stool of the commentary platform and the other hand gripping the megaphone, his face was flushed red.

"Slytherins, remember this score! This is what happens when you play dirty tricks! You despicable, shameless—"

“Jordan,” Professor McGonagall’s voice suddenly broke in, with her usual calmness, yet a barely perceptible tension, “if you can’t maintain a neutral commentary—”

“Professor, I’m just stating the facts!” Lee Jordan’s voice choked for a moment, then grew louder. “Do you expect me to say ‘Well done’ to Monta?”

Professor McGonagall remained silent.

Dylan saw her standing at the front of the teachers' table, her quill pen tracing across the scoreboard, and the corner of her mouth seemingly curling up slightly.

Just then, Harry suddenly moved.

He rode his fire crossbow and, as if pulled by something, suddenly swooped down towards the northwest corner of the field.

The speed was astonishing; the airflow at the end of the broom swept the dandelions on the grass into the air.

Slytherin was thrown into chaos.

Malfoy was the first to react.

"I saw a thief!"

Then he rode after him on his large broom, his black robe billowing in the wind.

(End of this chapter)