FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/STEPHENHART427
"What happened?" Hermione frowned immediately. "Is that broom in disrepair?"
Hagrid scowled. "No, only dark magic can affect a broomstick."
"What?!" Hermione gasped, snatching the telescope from Hagrid.
She scanned the field and soon spotted someone casting a spell.
"Snape! He's the one casting the spell!"
"What?!" Ron's eyes widened. "No way—Professor Snape is crazy! He actually wants to kill Harry right now?"
Hermione shoved the telescope in front of Ron. "See for yourself!"
Ron took a look, and sure enough, he saw Snape muttering something under his breath.
"Then what do we do?" Ron asked, panic creeping into his voice.
Hermione was already standing, ready to sprint across the field to stop Snape, but Dylan intervened.
"Hold on. Look at this first."
He took the telescope from Ron and adjusted it to another direction before handing it to Hermione.
"Professor Quirrell?" Hermione was stunned. "He's chanting a spell too?"
She hesitated, then scoffed. "This professor, who stutters in class, clutches a textbook like a lifeline, and looks like an old lady's worn-out shoe, can actually cast a spell?"
Dylan glanced at Hermione's slightly open, rosy lips and smirked. "Such vicious words coming from that mouth?"
Ignoring him, Hermione furrowed her brows. "But why is Quirrell casting a spell?"
Dylan nodded. "If a dark spell causes Harry's broom to go out of control, then a counter-spell should be able to stabilize it."
"But it's strange that Quirrell can cast any spell at all, isn't it?"
Hermione nodded, her expression growing serious. "So, what do we do?"
Dylan remained calm. "No need to panic."
Raising his wand, he pointed it toward Quirrell from across the field.
"You're going to cast a spell from here?!" Hermione looked incredulous.
Dylan smiled. "Finite Incantatem."
He spoke the incantation softly, but in reality...
"Confundo."
Dylan wasn't reckless enough to use black magic in this situation. He was careful.
Quirrell was testing whether Dumbledore was present. If the headmaster was watching, any dark magic would be noticed immediately. Dylan had no desire to risk drawing attention.
For all he knew, Dumbledore could be disguised as a student somewhere in the stands, quietly observing. Dylan didn't want to be the one under scrutiny.
If Dumbledore focused his attention on him, who knew what would happen? Instead of Harry being the one to battle Voldemort in the future, it might end up being Dylan himself. Worse, Dumbledore might even eliminate him before that happened.
So, Dylan aimed a Confundus Charm at Quirrell instead.
The spell traveled across the field and hit Quirrell just as he was struggling with Snape. Quirrell had been about to cast another bewitchment on Harry when he suddenly froze.
A sharp pain shot through his head, his stomach churned violently, and his face turned deathly pale. His lips trembled, his pupils contracted, and—
"Ough—!"
His throat convulsed. His jaw stretched open unnaturally, as if it might dislocate.
A torrent of yellow-green vomit erupted from his mouth in a wide arc.
The semi-liquid mess contained soft breadcrumbs, wilted greens, and some unidentifiable pasty substance.
Like a shotgun blast, the vomit sprayed forward, drenching the unfortunate people in the front row.
The crowd barely had time to react.
Someone was hit in the face and instinctively shut their eyes.
Another wizard, panicked, leaped backward but slipped in the mess.
A third, in the middle of shouting about Harry's broom, had their mouth open when—
"BLEGH—!"
A chain reaction followed.
"Ugh!"
"Vomit!"
"Guh—!"
One by one, students in the front rows began retching, caught in an uncontrollable wave of disgust.
The scene turned chaotic.
Quirrell himself barely had time to catch his breath before doubling over, hands braced on his knees, still vomiting.
Snape, meanwhile, had been preparing to cast another counter-curse when he noticed the mayhem unfolding nearby.
He hesitated, looking toward the commotion, utterly baffled.
Across the field, Hermione had been watching through the telescope. She yanked it away from her face, clamped a hand over her mouth, and looked at Dylan with wide, horrified eyes.
Ron, still unaware, grew impatient. "What's going on over there?"
But Hermione couldn't speak. She just trembled, covering her mouth as if she might be next to vomit.
Ron frowned and snatched the telescope from her hands.
"Professor Quirrell vomited all over them?!"
His face turned pale. "Ugh—!"
Dylan shot him a warning glare. "Don't you dare vomit!"
Ron shoved the telescope into Seamus' hands and clamped both hands over his mouth, taking deep breaths.
Hermione took longer to recover. After rinsing her mouth with water, she turned to Dylan.
"This… this was you, wasn't it?"
Dylan turned and blinked innocently. "Hey, don't accuse me! I just tried to stop the spell. Besides, from this distance, who knows if my spell even hit him?"
He deliberately avoided confirming anything.
Hermione, however, remained suspicious.
"He just used a spell, but there was no visible effect?" she muttered to herself.
Suspicious.
Still, she let it go for now. "But it was Quirrell who cursed Harry's broom after all?"
She turned back toward the stands.
The area around Quirrell had become a disaster zone.
Students shrieked and fled the vomit-soaked section, forming a wide circle around the mess.
Professors rushed in to restore order.
Despite everything, the Quidditch match continued.
However, for those who had been in the splash zone, the game had lost all its appeal.
Even though the professors used cleaning spells, many students still hurried back to their dormitories, desperate for showers.
And thus, the legend of "The Day Quirrell Vomited on Everyone" was born.
(End of this chapter)
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/STEPHENHART427