HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

November arrived, and the Quidditch season began. Harry was extremely busy preparing for the Quidditch matches.

This was his first Quidditch match ever, against Slytherin.

West ultimately didn't tell Harry what happened that night. The Patronus was just a memory, and Harry would never see them again; knowing would only add to his sadness.

West has also been having a tough time lately.

He ruthlessly rejected West's request to enter the inner world again, coldly saying that it was better for them to have less contact, because the more they contacted each other, the faster they would merge.

Although West was unwilling, he had no choice.

Since that night, he has stopped using dark magic. He vaguely realized that contact with dark magic would cause the seal on his body to break more quickly, and now was clearly not a good time.

He hasn't matured yet; it would be too dangerous to break the seal rashly.

West still hasn't unraveled the mysteries surrounding him. Why did his magic surge as a child? Where did those memories come from? These questions remain unanswered.

He asked the guardian angel the same question that day, but the guardian angel's gentle eyes were filled with guilt—they had passed away before they could find out everything for their child.

He wasn't curious about any of this, and would even chuckle at West's somewhat annoyed look.

West began spending a great deal of time in the cellars. His inner turmoil was always miraculously soothed when he was with Snape.

Snape didn't resist his intrusion, and even seemed to tacitly approve—perhaps Dumbledore had tasked him with monitoring him, West thought.

West became even busier, on par with Harry who was juggling training and homework – he not only had to complete the extra potion assignments given by Snape, but also had to handle a large amount of potion materials for Snape.

Incidentally, he forcibly changed Snape's leg dressing, then endured Snape's subtle mockery. (West: So-so, so-so, even a little bit satisfying.)

Snape's leg injury didn't stop him from deducting points from Gryffindor. The day before the Quidditch match, he deducted five points from Gryffindor for Harry taking books from the library out of the school and confiscated Harry's copy of "The Wonderful Quidditch Ball".

"This was made up on the spot, wasn't it?" Harry said indignantly, watching Snape limp away. "What happened to his leg?"

"I don't know, but I hope he's in a lot of pain..." Ron mocked gloatingly. Before he could finish speaking, he saw West emerge from the corridor and help Snape away.

Snape's face darkened at what West said, but he didn't shake West off. West then smiled, revealing two small dimples on his fair face.

Ron shut up. If West found out he was talking about his dean behind his back, he would definitely teach him a lesson.

Harry shrugged indifferently. "It's perfectly normal for West to like Professor Snape." After all, Professor Snape's feelings for West were worlds apart from theirs.

He'll have West bring the book back for him in a bit, Harry thought.

To stop Harry from being curious about what was under the trapdoor, West had even secretly told Harry about the Philosopher's Stone and repeatedly warned him not to doubt Professor Snape anymore.

Harry and Hermione found information about the Philosopher's Stone and Nicolas Flamel in the library, their curiosity satisfied, and they stopped thinking about exploring the trapdoor.

The weather was clear and cold on the day of the Quidditch match.

The restaurant was filled with the aroma of grilled sausages, and everyone was excitedly discussing Quidditch, except for Harry, who was listlessly huddled in a corner.

When West entered the Great Hall, Harry was slumped on the table, his plate of sausages untouched.

"Cheer up, Harry." West patted Harry on the back. "You're much more agile on your broomstick than Neville's mandrake." West pushed the hot cocoa over, the bottom of the cup clinking against the stone table.

"Thank you, West." Harry sighed deeply, stuffing a few bites of sausage into his mouth. "But please, don't joke around like that, it's too cold."

As the clock struck eleven, the stands erupted in a sea of ​​silver-green and gold-red cheers; the Quidditch match was about to begin.

West and Draco went to the top row to watch the game.

West immediately spotted Snape in the middle of the stands. He was wearing a new black robe and had a blank expression, but West could still tell from the two-pixel upturn of Snape's lips that he was in a good mood today.

Harry entered the arena with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and his appearance sparked cheers from the crowd, especially from Gryffindor. Hermione, Ron, and several other Gryffindor students put up a huge banner that read "Harry Will Win" and included a drawing of a ferocious lion.

West shifted his gaze from Snape back to Harry, where he noticed Slytherin's Marcus Flint glaring menacingly at him.

Unrepentant.

West narrowed his eyes, twirling his wand repeatedly. If this guy dared to do anything to Harry again, he wouldn't mind teaching him another lesson, but it wouldn't be as simple as last time.

As Ms. Hock's silver whistle rang out, everyone took to the air on their broomsticks.

Angelina of Gryffindor struck first and grabbed the Quaffle.

The cheers from Gryffindor made the cold winter feel alive, and the roars from Slytherin ignited the entire arena.

West squinted as he watched Harry soar high in the air, gracefully gliding across the arena, searching for the Golden Snitch.

Seeing Gryffindor score, Harry even took the time to do a few somersaults to show his joy.

"...You brat." West laughed and scolded helplessly.

The battle remained deadlocked. Suddenly, West noticed a golden streak of light flashing through the air. Harry quickly spotted the Golden Snitch as well; he was much faster than the Slytherin Seeker, and just as he was about to catch the Snitch—

Bang! Flint's massive body hurtled towards Harry like a cannonball, slamming him aside and sending his flying broomstick veering off course. Harry clung tightly to the broom to avoid falling.

Seeing that Harry was alright, West's lips curled into a dangerous smile.

Flint, who was being scolded by Ms. Hodge, got goosebumps. He turned around but couldn't find anyone staring at him.

A wave of waves has risen again.

Just as Harry was concentrating on dodging the bouncing ball and searching for the Golden Snitch, his broomstick suddenly jerked violently, then began to shake wildly and tumble, almost throwing Harry off.

"Harry!" West heard Draco exclaim. He jumped to his feet, his sharp emerald eyes scanning the room.

West's gaze involuntarily fell on Snape, noticing that Snape's face was tense as he stared at Harry, his lips moving.

West remained unmoved, shifting his gaze upwards to find Quirrell staring at Harry, muttering something to himself.

"Damn it." The stands were packed with people, and West couldn't just cast spells randomly. He could only weave through the boiling crowd like a snake to get close to Quirrell, only to be bumped into by Hermione on the way.

"West! Snape is casting a curse on Harry's broom!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It wasn't Professor Snape," West retorted in a deep voice, ignoring Hermione, and walked up to Quirrell's back, kicking him.

The kick was quite forceful, sending Quirrell tumbling off his seat and rolling down the steps several times, past Snape.

Harry's broom suddenly stopped rolling.

Snape was startled by Quirrell and turned around to meet West's innocent, dog-like eyes, which were filled with worry.

"Dean, how did Professor Quirrell fall? That's strange." West feigned concern for Quirrell, completely unaware of how suspicious he appeared in Snape's eyes.

Snape, who never liked Quirrell anyway, turned away nonchalantly, a mocking smile playing on his lips, and said to Quirrell, "It seems Professor Quirrell needs to relearn the Balance Charm."

There was a dusty footprint on Quirrell's black robe. His face was ashen, and he held onto his rickety headscarf with one hand. He said nothing and staggered away from the stands.

Hermione stood beside West, looking on in surprise. "Professor Quirrell? How could he...?"

West then explained, "Professor Snape was casting a counter-spell; he was helping Harry. I saw it clearly."

Hermione's face flushed slightly, her eyes filled with guilt. "I misunderstood Professor Snape. Luckily you're here, West."

West waved his hand dismissively, fearing that if he had been a step later, the girl would have unleashed a fiery spell on Snape with her wand—Hermione's new spell from just two days ago.

If Professor Snape's new robes were burned, I wonder how long he would sulk.