Harry Potter, the savior of Night City

Harry walked out of the headmaster's office, his mind preoccupied with the task Dumbledore had entrusted to him. Though annoyed, he had to get it done. Next, he needed to figure out how to extract more information from Quirrell.

In the afternoon, Quirrell, as usual, pulled Harry into his office. But this time, Quirrell immediately asked, "I heard you were forced to come to Professor Dumbledore's office because you stood up for a classmate?"

Harry looked at the blunt question and knew exactly what this guy was up to: sowing discord and getting him on his side. If an eleven-year-old had really been wronged and was then talked to like this, he would basically fall into his trap.

"Yes, Professor Quirrell." Harry said with a stiff face, putting on an expression of being wronged but trying to be strong, while sitting down in his chair as if nothing had happened.

"Here, child, have some milk." Quirrell picked up a glass of hot milk and handed it to Harry. "I know you're upset. What did Dumbledore say to you? Maybe I can help you out."

Harry saw that he had a chance and the boy had fallen for it. He took the milk but didn't drink it. He held it tightly in his hand, lowered his head, and his voice was a little choked up, but the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned.

"I... I was just standing up for my friend when my friend was being bullied, and then... Headmaster Dumbledore..." Harry put the milk aside, raised his arm to wipe his eyes, and continued to pretend, "He insisted that it was my fault and forced me to apologize to them, sob sob sob..." He continued to lower his head and pretend to cry.

"Oh, poor child, how could Dumbledore do this!" Quirrell patted Harry on the shoulder, his words seemingly sympathetic to Harry's grievances. "Eat something, stop crying."

Harry took the cookie Quirrell gave him, lowered his head, blocked Quirrell's view with his sleeve, stuffed the cookie into his sleeve to hide it, made chewing motions and sounds, rubbed his eyes until they were red, and looked up "sincerely" to say, "Thank you, Professor."

"I was just doing what a professor should do." Quirrell nodded and said, "Do you know why that hypocrite Dumbledore treated you like that?"

"Is it really okay to say that about the principal?"

"Don't worry, Harry, he's just a hypocrite, don't you think?"

"Yes...yes! He's a hypocrite." Harry seemed to have sided with Quirrell.

"So, do you know why you were treated like this?" Quirrell put his hand on Harry's shoulder and said seriously. "Because you don't have the strength of those students, and their families are all stronger than yours, so that hypocritical old man sided with them."

Harry seemed to understand something. He looked up at Quirrell, his eyes red, his voice no longer choked with emotion, "Professor, you are a professor. Is there any way to make me stronger, strong enough that I will never be treated like this again?"

A hint of joy flashed in Quirrell's eyes. "Remember the Philosopher's Stone I told you about? It can make you stronger."

"But didn't you say it was a story?"

"I've confirmed it. The Philosopher's Stone exists, and it's right here in this school..."

Harry stared at Quirrell in disbelief. "It...it really exists?"

"Yes, Harry, right here, in this school, it can give you wealth and power, and you will never be treated like this again, Harry."

"Professor, I want to find the Philosopher's Stone!" Harry looked up and said "firmly" to Quirrell.

"Good boy, let's work together and find the Philosopher's Stone!" Quirrell patted Harry's head, his voice almost overflowing with joy.

When Harry left the office, Quirrell seemed to have returned to normal, stammering as he said goodbye to him.

Back in the dorm, he fed Hedwig the cookies he had hidden in his sleeve and pondered Quirrell's words.

"Phew, looks like I need to investigate this. This isn't within the scope of the commission. They went a bit overboard."

"Alright, let's go check out the library," Harry thought, so he sat up in bed and headed towards the library.

......

"Huh? Let me join the Quidditch team?" Harry stood in the corridor, and Professor Snape was standing in front of him, holding a long box.

"This is Dumbledore's request. He wants to see if Quirrell might have ulterior motives," Snape said expressionlessly, even with a hint of gritted teeth.

"Phew, okay, okay, tell that old man that Quirrell already knows the Philosopher's Stone is at the school, and also, tell him that joining the Quidditch team comes at a different price." Harry rubbed his forehead.

"This is your reward for joining the Quidditch team," Professor Snape said, handing the box to Harry.

"What's this?"

"broom."

After saying the last two words, Professor Snape turned and left, not giving Harry a chance to ask any questions.

Back in the dormitory, I opened the long box in my hand. Inside, a delicate flying broom lay quietly, with the words "Nijirushi 2000" printed in gold on the end of the broom.

"Wow, this looks pretty good."

Harry stroked the broomstick and felt that it was indeed extraordinary, far surpassing those old-fashioned things from flying class.

"Bang, bang, bang."

Just as Harry was examining the broom, there was a knock on the dormitory door. Harry opened the door, and a senior with big teeth stood in front of him.

"I am Marcus Flint, the Quidditch Captain of Slytherin. The Headmaster said you've been admitted to us without any special qualifications, and I must see if you're truly qualified."

"Old man, you really know how to give me a hard time." Harry rubbed his forehead and replied, "I know, when do we start?"

"Now."

Harry followed Marcus to the Quidditch field, where another player had a box at his feet in the middle of the field, seemingly waiting for them.

"Derrian, is everything ready?"

"That's fine."

Hearing Derian's reply, Marcus turned to Harry and said, "Now, let me tell you the rules of Quidditch. There are seven people on each side, three of whom are Chasers." Marcus pointed to the largest red ball in the open box. "The Chasers are responsible for chasing the Quaffle and passing it around. The Quaffle scores ten points for each hoop it goes through."

"One goalkeeper is responsible for guarding the goal, that's self-explanatory. Two batters are responsible for hitting the loose balls and knocking them down to protect our team," Marcus said, pointing to the slightly smaller black ball.

"Finally, it's the Seeker's job to find and catch the Golden Snitch. Once the Golden Snitch is caught, the team that caught it gets 150 points, and the game ends immediately." Marcus pointed to the smallest golden ball. "Right now, our team is full, so you can only be a substitute for now. However, the Dean specifically requested that you play in this year's competition, so we've decided to make you the Seeker's substitute."

On the field, several balloons were arranged, forming a line at varying heights.

"Pop the balloon as fast as you can and see how good you are. If you're not good enough, I'll have Professor Snape apply for your removal, understand?"

"Hmm." Harry responded, straddled the broom Marcus had prepared, and with a "whoosh," he dashed off like an arrow, smashing through all the balloons at an almost imperceptible speed before stopping in front of Marcus.

Did I pass?

Marcus stared blankly, mouth agape, before finally managing to say, "Yes, yes, we made it..." Navigating the path created by these balloons in one go was extremely difficult, requiring various stunts and techniques, yet Harry succeeded on his first attempt.

"I'm going back now. Do we still have training left?" Harry asked politely before leaving.

"You're a substitute player, so training isn't too demanding right now. Your training schedule will start after Halloween."

"Okay." Harry turned and left.

Marcus stood there, unable to calm down for a long time.

"Dean, you really do love Quidditch!"

basement.

"Achoo!" Snape, who was brewing medicine for the school hospital, suddenly sneezed.