Having escaped famine, I was accepted into Hogwarts.

Chapter 138 The invincible Harry has fallen!

Chapter 138 The invincible Harry has fallen!

Soon, as two magical fireworks of different colors rose into the sky and exploded, Kane and most of the Gryffindor students took their seats in the Quidditch stands.

Unlike the other Gryffindor wizards who were fidgeting, Kane leaned back in his chair with an air of nonchalance and pulled out some toffee he had previously taken from Dumbledore's office.

He was confident in his skills and in Harry's flying broomstick. The only thing that made him less confident was the physical abilities of the Slytherin players on the other side.

What if they don't withstand a collision?

Just as Cairns was wondering what to do with the young Witcher lads, the surrounding wizards began to gasp in surprise.

The reason is that the players on the Quidditch pitch are now taking off.

To everyone's surprise, the one that flew the highest, fastest, and most recklessly across the entire arena was not the Slytherin members' Nimbus 2001, but Harry.

The Slytherin members, seeing Harry riding a cheap broomstick they'd never seen before, assumed he was out of control and had already accepted defeat, so they swapped their brooms for old feather sticks.

That way, when he loses the game, he can argue that he wasn't bad at the game, but that his flying broom was inferior to the opponent's.

Now that Harry has actually started to take off and accelerate, they realize that Harry has indeed broken down and started to give up, but not in a self-destructive way. Instead, he is giving up in a way that leads to mutual destruction.

This kind of explosive acceleration that makes bricks fly is so abstract that it's astonishing. Who knows where Harry found a large-displacement broom engine and just chopped a stick off the Forbidden Forest and shoved it onto it?

Does this comply with flying broomstick safety regulations? Does this thing have emergency braking? Emergency avoidance? Force field deflection?

Thinking about this made the Slytherin team members feel a little better.

What good is it if this flying broom, which can be described as a three-no product (no brand, no manufacturer, no quality certification) flies fast? If nothing unexpected happens, given Harry's current flying speed and momentum, he'll probably crash into some flying ball or even stick his head into the grass like a mandrake within half an hour.

It was only then that the poor Gryffindor team realized that all they had to offer was their team's secrecy and the person behind the flying broomstick—not that he was particularly skilled, but rather that he was incredibly audacious.

The match proceeded calmly, with the entire Slytherin team playing unusually calmly, all waiting for Harry to have an accident and be instantly killed by the terrifying acceleration.

Soon, the opportunity they had anticipated arrived.

One of the flying balls on the field suddenly went out of control, as if it were being controlled by something, and flew straight toward Harry, as if it wanted to kill him.

However, the speed of the fire ring was truly impressive. The flying ball chased it for most of the day but still couldn't catch up. So the flying ball changed its strategy, circling the entire field to adjust its angle, and finally managed to knock Harry half to death head-on.

Almost all the junior wizard professors in the stands stood up. Dumbledore and Snape had already started to draw their wands and cast spells. Slytherin seemed to have already seen the dawn of victory.

Only a few people still believe that Harry could dodge the flying ball with a powerful feint.

But they were wrong. Harry didn't dodge; instead, he crashed right into it. As the phantom of the Shadow Armor flickered briefly above Harry and the flying broom, the flying ball was smashed to a size not much thicker than a meat sauce.

Harry, meanwhile, continued searching for the Golden Snitch throughout the arena as if nothing had happened.

The entire Quidditch stadium was filled with spectators, including members of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams, who were speechless with astonishment at what they saw.

It might also include a certain lovable Golden Snitch, because Harry had just transformed into Luck and smashed the Flying Ball into a pulp, and then caught the Golden Snitch. It's hard not to wonder if the Golden Snitch could also have seen that scene and was so shocked that he couldn't fly.

After the Quidditch match ended in Gryffindor's victory, Harry finally recovered from the lingering fear.

When the celebration banquet was held in the Gryffindor common room, he specifically sought out Kane and asked the question that had been buried in his heart for a long time.

"So they say the fire ring has no safety features whatsoever, so why was I still able to smash the flying ball to pieces?"

"Huh?" Kane scratched his head. "Is making a flying broomstick that complicated?"

"So how did you do it?" Harry then asked.

"I've put the Shadow Armor on for you."

Harry:

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How can this not be considered a powerful brick flying through the air?

And so, the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was empty once again. After all, Gryffindor throws parties whenever there's a happy occasion, and of course, they throw parties even when there isn't. As a result, all the food on the table was packed up and taken to the Gryffindor Tower. Harry, the great hero, naturally received the treatment of a father, reveling in the center of the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by a crowd.

Until the unexpected happened, as the party atmosphere reached its climax, Harry's face, whether from excessive excitement or from drinking too much butterbeer, grew increasingly dark as the atmosphere intensified, eventually becoming frighteningly dark. He clutched his neck and collapsed straight into the crowd.

Harry, invincible on the Quidditch pitch... has fallen.

Unlike the outgoing Ron, Ron was active in the center of the Gryffindor group. He caught Harry almost instantly, then grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him a couple of times. After a moment of stunned silence, Harry's brain suddenly remembered something.

"Harry can't be suffering from alcohol poisoning, can he? Butterbeer contains alcohol, right?"

Despite the complaints, Ron was surprisingly agile. He used magic to carry Harry on his back and then, with a powerful, sweeping motion, he carved a bloody path through the dense Gryffindor crowd. Then, his legs moved at a speed that was almost faster than a mantis shrimp as he sprinted towards the infirmary.

Kane and Hermione found out later. Kane didn't like overly lively occasions, and Hermione had spent half a day in class and brewing potions, so she was exhausted and went back to her dorm early to rest. She was only notified later.

The Gryffindor Tower common room was secretly poisoned, and the victim was none other than the protagonist of the Gryffindor party, the great hero of the Quidditch pitch!

Does this seem right?

Yes, the Gryffindor friends thought this made perfect sense, because when Kane and Hermione belatedly arrived at the infirmary, they thought it would take a long time to squeeze in, but when they actually got there, they found it unusually deserted.

Besides Harry's Quidditch teammates and Ron, Neville, and Colin, only Madam Pomfrey remained.

Kane secretly glanced at Madam Pomfrey's hurried footsteps outside the ward.

"It looks like Harry won't be able to walk out of this infirmary alive today," Kane murmured quietly, as if Madam Pomfrey had already given Harry a death notice.

After Kane uttered those irresponsible words, the atmosphere in the entire ward became incredibly somber.

Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, even took off the brooch with his family crest on his chest, hoping that his ancestors would bless Harry with safety.

Hermione's eyes even reddened, adding a touch of sadness to the small hospital room.

Just as the first cry was about to be heard in the ward, Mrs. Pomfrey entered.

She glanced around at the people surrounding Harry. Her extensive experience told her what these young wizards were thinking. Just as she was pondering how to tell them, Ron spoke up.

"Mrs. Pomfrey, how much time does Harry have left?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed helplessly and patted Ron on the shoulder: "If I'm not mistaken, there should be more than a hundred years left."

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