My necromancer career begins at Hogwarts

Chapter 90 Stop Fighting!

Early March.

Almost the entire school was looking forward to this Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Morris also joined in the fun.

Half an hour before the match was scheduled to begin, the stands were already packed with students.

Morris glanced around briefly; not only students, but even the professors were there.

And then there was Dumbledore, sitting in the very center of the teachers' stand, with Professor McGonagall talking to him beside him.

This scene was even more exciting than the last game Morris watched.

Perhaps because there were too many spectators, the students did not sit together according to their colleges this time, but were instead squeezed together in a mixed manner.

"Mo... Maurice."

While looking for a seat, Maurice suddenly heard someone calling him.

Looking in the direction of the sound, they found it was Neville, who was hesitantly waving from a short distance away.

He immediately went over and sat down in the empty seat behind Neville.

"Want some candy?" Morris asked, handing Neville a lemon Olaf, which he had bought in Hogsmeade.

Neville accepted it, somewhat flattered, and whispered a thank you.

While waiting for the team to enter the field, Maurice casually asked, "Neville, how's your spell practice going?"

Neville lowered his head. "When I practiced on my own, the Levitation Charm was already enough to make things fly very steadily."

"But... I can't chant the spell properly if someone is watching me."

Morris looked at him strangely. "Didn't you perform quite well in front of me last time?"

Neville lowered his head even further and stammered, "That...that's different."

Morris sighed.

It seems that his encouragement-based education was not entirely successful.

This is normal, though. It's not something that can be done by simply saying a few words to someone's personality.

"What should I do?" Neville's voice was filled with confusion. "I certainly can't successfully cast a spell in front of Malfoy."

Morris pondered for a moment, looked at the players warming up on the field, and slowly said, "Then practice more, practice until your hands and mouth can move on their own, whether your hands are shaking or not, whether your mind is blank or not."

"If you keep practicing every day, one day you will be able to beat Malfoy."

Neville looked at him, seemingly understanding but not quite.

Yes, Morris must be right.

Neville secretly made up his mind.

From now on, he will practice the levitation spell and the leg-locking spell a hundred times every morning.

Finally, the referee blew his whistle, and the match began.

Then, five minutes later, the game ended.

That's right, only five minutes.

It wasn't that anything unexpected happened, but rather that Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch in just five minutes.

According to Quidditch rules, the game ends immediately once one side catches the Golden Snitch.

Morris didn't know what to say.

This competition was really boring.

"Malfoy! Take this!"

Just then, a commotion broke out beside me.

Morris turned his head and saw that the audience seats had become a mess at some point.

Ron was swinging his fist at Draco Malfoy's face.

Ah, that must have hurt a lot.

Malfoy's nose immediately bled.

He retaliated defiantly, throwing a heavy punch at Ron, but Ron blocked it with his arm.

The two immediately started fighting, with Ron clearly gaining the upper hand.

Meanwhile, Neville stood trembling nearby, pleading, "Stop fighting...stop fighting..."

Unfortunately, it had no effect.

Even in the end, he was drawn into the fight, taking on Gore and Crabbe alone.

Seeing this, Morris quietly helped Neville cast a weakening curse on Goyle and Crabbe, then silently moved a few steps to the side and watched the battle with great interest.

A hand-to-hand combat between wizards—isn't that more exciting than a five-minute Quidditch match?

But then again, why were they fighting?

Morris had been watching the game intently and hadn't noticed anything around him.

The farce only ended when the prefect arrived to maintain order.

"What happened?" Morris asked Ron.

Ron, bruised and battered, was proud: "Malfoy deserved it for talking bad about our family. What do you think, Neville?"

"Yes...yes."

Neville looked down at his fist, his face filled with disbelief.

Just now, he punched Gore and Crabbe once each, and the two of them staggered and fell down, which was unbelievable.

Is he really good at fighting?

It's possible that his grandmother always praised him for being very strong.

However, Ron didn't feel anything was wrong with this, and just kept patting Neville on the back, telling him well done.

After excitedly discussing Harry's performance, Hermione looked at them with concern, "Are you sure it's okay for you to fight with Malfoy here? Professor Flitwick glanced this way several times just now."

"Come on, we didn't use any magic, the professors don't care." Ron waved his hand dismissively, but ended up pulling on his wound and wincing in pain.

Morris thoughtfully handed him a bottle of white succinate.

"Oh, thank you, Morris." Ron took the bottle of White Dense Essence, unscrewed the cap, and carefully applied it to the wound. He immediately felt a cool sensation, and the pain almost completely disappeared.

For a wizard, such physical injuries are nothing.

The crowd began to surge towards the exit, and they followed the crowd down from the stands.

The March wind still carried a chill, dispelling the lingering noise of the Quidditch stadium.

As Maurice walked through the castle, he could faintly hear cheers coming from the Gryffindor tower.

He walked quickly towards his dormitory. Recently, his life-saving water was running low again, and it was time to brew a new batch.

The next morning, Maurice was having breakfast at Ravenclaw's table.

Across from them, Cho Chang was discussing Quidditch.

"Wood must be ecstatic," she said. "That's a new Hogwarts record; Potter did it in four minutes and thirty-two seconds."

They caught the Golden Thief in no time. Ah, watching that makes me want to fly around in it too.

"

Marietta encouraged her, "How about trying out for the Quidditch team next year? You fly amazingly, how about becoming a Chaser?"

Qiu Zhang's face clearly showed a look of longing.

The owls flew in.

An owl with a patterned face swooped down, dropped a package on the tablecloth in front of Qiu Zhang, and left a feather behind.

Qiu Zhang paused for a moment, looked around, and asked, "Whose package is this?"

She was certain she hadn't ordered anything.

"It's mine," Morris said helplessly. "That silly owl often delivers things to the wrong places, especially to pretty girls."

This is the owl Flick sent to deliver the goods; it's probably some random potion ingredients he ordered.

Several times before, this owl would irresponsibly send the order to the wrong person, always giving it to a pretty girl.

It's really puzzling.

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