HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

Harry steadied his broom and swooped down towards the ground, the whistling wind whipping his robes. Everyone saw him cover his mouth and cough for a while—then a Golden Snitch flew out of his mouth and landed in his hand.

Harry laughed with delight, "I caught it!" he shouted, raising the Golden Snitch above his head and waving it around.

"Merlin's Beard!" The cheers from the stands engulfed the Quidditch pitch. The game was over; Gryffindor had won.

Draco leaned against the railing, his grey-blue eyes swirling with complex emotions. He let out a drawn-out "Ugh—" of disgust, feeling disappointed by Slytherin's defeat, yet also involuntarily happy for Harry.

Draco ran to Harry's side, wanting to check if he was hurt. He raised his chin in feigned disgust. "Let me see if your throat's been turned into a funnel by the Golden Snitch."

Harry couldn't hide his joy, and seeing this, he waved his hand helplessly, "Draco!"

West was already standing next to Harry at this point, casting a few check spells on him to make sure he was alright before he felt relieved.

Flint was still raging incoherently, shouting, "He didn't catch the thief! He practically swallowed him whole!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't make this so ugly, okay? A bet's a bet, are you such a sore loser?" He simply disliked Flint; the guy was just too annoying.

"You! You traitor..." Flint was furious and spoke recklessly. He took a few steps forward, wanting to curse Draco again, but West's wand was pressed against his throat, silencing him.

"Did I tell you to stay away from Harry, Flint?" West frowned, his gentle voice carrying a warning.

Flint's face turned ashen. "You dare lay a hand on me, West? You want to drop out?"

West narrowed his eyes. "How many ways do you think I have to make you wish you were dead without anyone noticing?"

"West! What are you doing?" Snape arrived at the smoke-filled scene, his gloomy face darker than the night.

West immediately put away his wand, his eyes filled with innocence. "Professor, Prefect Flint said he wants to expel me."

Snape glared at West, then looked at Flint. "Tell me, what happened?"

"He pointed his wand at me!" Flint exclaimed, his face flushed, pointing at West. "In front of everyone!"

"I didn't. Was Flint hurt? How can you prove I pointed my wand at you?" West looked hurt. "Don't slander your junior."

Flint looked around; only Harry and Draco were with him.

Harry ignored him, of course, as he was hiding behind Draco, pretending to look up at the stars; Draco was even more infuriating, quietly enjoying Flint's twitching facial muscles and laughing mockingly.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape suddenly turned to Draco, "as a witness, what did you see?"

Draco felt a thin layer of sweat break out on his back. The phrase his father had taught him, "Always uphold Slytherin's honor," swirled on his tongue three times before finally settling into: "Before the match started, Flint said he was going to make Harry break his neck during the game."

At this point, he raised his chin, his grey-blue eyes looking defiantly at Flint. "Need me to show you my memories, Professor?"

"You!" Flint's temple throbbed with anger, but he dared not say anything more—he had indeed said those words, but he hadn't expected Malfoy to hear them.

"Do I need to remind you that a prefect's duty is to maintain order, not to create chaos?" Snape's voice was like a spiderweb frozen in a cellar.

"Go and clean the prize room tonight, and forbid the use of magic," Snape said.

Harry and Draco chuckled to themselves—cleaning the dusty trophy without magic wouldn't be easy, and Flint wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

"As for you, Mr. West—" His gaze swept over the boy's slightly curly red hair, "come to the cellar to clean up the toad's entrails."

West nodded obediently, "Yes, Professor."

This punishment was insignificant to him, since he had been handling the potion ingredients in the cellar all this time.

After Snape left, Flint also left with a livid face, spitting in West's direction before he left.

West's face darkened instantly, but when he recalled the powder he had sprinkled on Flint in the chaos, a pleased smile crept across his face.

West, Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Ron went to Hagrid's hut. When Hagrid saw Draco, his eyes widened in surprise, and he awkwardly made tea for the five of them.

Draco pouted; he wouldn't have wanted to come if Harry hadn't dragged him along.

"It was Quirrell who did it," Hermione explained to everyone. "Ron and I initially thought it was Professor Snape, but West said he was casting a counter-spell on Harry."

Snape's actions touched Harry slightly, but honestly, he'd even rather Snape had been the one casting the curse on him. "What did I do to offend Quirrell?"

Everyone's impression of Quirrell is that of a strange teacher who stutters, smells of garlic, and is gentle with his students—compared to Professor Snape—and is terrified of trolls—he was once scared unconscious by a troll in the bathroom.

"Nonsense," Hagrid said. "Why would Quirrell target you?"

"That's exactly what we want to know," Draco said, taking a sip of the tea Hagrid had brewed, then immediately putting it down with a look of disgust.

West noticed Quirrell's unconscious fidgeting. He kept adjusting his headscarf. Why? Was there something shameful about his head?

"In short, he has ill intentions towards Harry, Harry, you'd better stay away from him," Ron concluded.

After this day, everyone's impression of Quirrell changed drastically, and they all became more wary.

After a long discussion, everyone left Hagrid's cabin, and West planned to go to the cellar.

"I really don't understand you. Even though Professor Snape is our headmaster, do any students really like being around him?" Draco muttered. "He'll call everyone who gets close to him an idiot."

Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.

West, recalling the potion-making instructions Snape had given him in private, said, "The professor is just cold on the outside but warm on the inside; you'll see once you get to know him better."

Harry and Ron shuddered. They didn't want to have any more contact.

"Alright, go ahead, West! We're going to the library to do our homework," Hermione said.

A huge question mark appeared above Draco, Harry, and Ron's heads. But, did they say they were going to the library?

Dusk was falling. When West pushed open the wooden door to the cellar, Snape was studying potions. His black eyes, which usually held a gloomy and cold look, were now much gentler.

West sat to one side and began to process the toad's internal organs.

By the time he finished processing, Snape had also finished mixing the potion and was bottling it.

"Professor," West said, looking at Snape, "the one who cast the curse on Harry today was Quirrell."

Snape looked up, his sharp gaze falling on West. He pondered something, then said after a moment, "Understood. Don't interfere in this matter."

"On the condition that he doesn't harm Harry, Professor," West said.

Snape glared at West. "The Hogwarts professors aren't useless; they'll protect Potter. You'd better worry about yourself first."

After he finished speaking, he paused for a moment, then asked casually, "Have you been feeling unwell lately?"

West paused, remembering that "he" hadn't come out since that night. He shook his head. "I'm fine, Professor."

"It'll be too late when you're in trouble." Snape sneered, took out a week's supply of tranquilizers from the medicine cabinet, and gestured for West to take them.

West obediently picked up the tranquilizer—although there was absolutely no need to drink it, he decided to accept it to put Snape and Dumbledore's minds at ease.