Hoare chased after the crystal ball at an incredible speed, flying forward with all his focus on the ball.

When he first got on the broom, he thought it would be a bit painful to ride.

But it wasn't.

The broom had something akin to a saddle where he sat.

The broom Hoare was using was the school's standard model, focused solely on safety, without any acceleration runes.

He pressed his body low, almost hugging the broomstick, to minimize wind resistance.

Hoare pushed the school-issued broom to its limits, but it still wasn't enough.

He frowned, realizing he needed a professional broom. It was a pity the Firebolt hadn't been developed yet, and a Nimbus 2000 was too expensive. He needed to find a way to get someone to give him one.

In his mental connection with the broom, Hoare kept cheering it on, urging it to go just a little faster.

He watched helplessly as the crystal ball headed straight for the castle's high wall. Time was running out!

In that critical moment, Hoare felt the broom respond to his anxious mindset, releasing a final burst of energy to assist him.

With the ball just a meter away from the wall, Hoare accelerated, sweeping past to intercept the crystal ball, successfully stopping it from crashing.

Hoare reached out with his right hand and firmly grasped the crystal ball in his palm.

What seemed like a long sequence actually took less than a minute.

Hoare's maneuver left everyone on the field and a certain observer in the castle awestruck.

Hoare straightened up on the broom and slowly descended.

Everyone on the ground, whether from Gryffindor or Slytherin, couldn't help but cheer for Hoare's impressive feat. It was just too cool!

Especially the scene of snatching the crystal ball—it was more thrilling than any Quidditch match, since the Golden Snitch wouldn't shatter!

However, amidst the cheers, Hoare suddenly sensed that his connection with the broom had been severed.

It was as if the broom had been forcibly taken over, losing control.

What was going on?

Hoare was puzzled. He was still twenty or thirty meters above the ground, with nothing to break his fall. If he fell, it would be worse than Neville's infamous tumble.

Stolen story; please report.

Hoare's mind raced, considering possibilities. He scanned the surroundings, trying to find the person hiding behind this.

Fortunately, Hoare had perfect 20/20 vision.

Finally, he spotted a figure hidden behind a Roman column deep in the first-floor corridor.

The person was mostly concealed, with only a head peeking out—gray hair and black eyes.

Those eyes glared at Hoare, muttering something under their breath.

Even without the turban, Hoare recognized who it was.

Quirinus Quirrell.

The body possessed by the Dark Lord.

Hoare smirked coldly. He had once saved Professor Quirrell's life, yet now the man was repaying him with betrayal.

The damage the Dark Lord did to Quirrell's body was irreparable, but it wasn't fatal if treated in time.

But now, it seemed Professor Quirrell didn't care if he lived or died.

Hoare regretted not sneaking into the infirmary earlier to knock Quirrell out, preventing him from causing trouble.

Hoare decided that once he got off the broom, he'd make sure Quirrell was unrecognizable even to Dumbledore.

The other students on the lawn noticed Hoare's predicament and were in chaos.

Some wanted to find a teacher, while others tried to take to the skies, only to be stopped by their peers.

The noise was incessant.

Hoare's head was spinning. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his mind, and held onto the broom, attempting to regain control.

Perhaps Quirrell sensed Hoare's gaze, as the broom, which had been trembling slightly, began to lose control, shaking violently in all directions.

Hoare's breakfast was threatening to make a reappearance.

He gritted his teeth, clinging tightly to the broom, lowering his body, and extending a thread of magic into the broom.

He could feel a trace of magic already manipulating it.

Hoare increased his output, thankful he had enhanced his magic reserves earlier; otherwise, he might not have been able to outmatch Quirrell.

Finally!

Hoare sensed his magic gradually overpowering Quirrell's, about to reclaim control of the broom.

Suddenly, the broom flipped, leaving Hoare upside down, the world turned on its head.

"Oh my god!!! William!!!"

"He's going to fall!!!"

"Someone save him!"

"Quick, get a professor!"

The screams and cries for help were deafening.

Hoare was entirely focused on the final struggle for control, unable to pay attention to anything else.

Sweat dripped down his hair, and in his inverted position, his limbs were useless.

But Hoare couldn't afford to relax, his muscles tense and aching.

He realized the difference between a broom and a horse.

A broom couldn't be tamed by physical effort alone; it was a magical tool requiring both physical and magical control.

Clearly, Hoare's mastery of magic was advanced, his C-level talent providing a strong connection with the broom.

But physically, his current position made it difficult to exert force.

Hoare continually adjusted his posture, trying to press his body closer to the broom, using his waist, back, thighs, and calves to forcibly control the broom's speed and altitude.

When the shaking finally subsided, Hoare's waist exploded with power, spinning him back onto the broom.

This show of strength successfully expelled Quirrell's magic from the broom.

Feeling the broom stabilize, Hoare let out a long breath.

Then he controlled the broom, flying steadily and slowly back to the ground.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

"Henry! Henry! Henry!"

"That was amazing!"

"Henry is ours!"

When Hoare's feet touched the ground, everyone surrounded him.

Faces were lit with excitement.

Hoare felt like a superstar, shaking hands with everyone, some even giving him enthusiastic hugs.

To be honest, it was a bit embarrassing and awkward.

Hoare braced himself to accept everyone's praise, feeling a bit bashful from all the compliments.

"Henry William!"

A stern male voice interrupted the cheers.

Everyone saw a giant bat flapping its wings approaching from afar.

Both Gryffindors and Slytherins shivered, bowed their heads, and retreated a few steps, leaving Hoare alone at the front.

Hoare held the crystal ball in one hand and leaned on the broom with the other, looking slightly bewildered as the dark figure of Snape strode toward him.

Professor McGonagall followed behind.

"Henry William, come with me. The rest of you, hmph. Follow Professor McGonagall's instructions," Snape said, his face dark as he handed the remaining students over to McGonagall.

He turned and walked away briskly, not caring if Hoare could keep up.

Hoare was still in a daze, unsure why Snape wanted him, but he saw the words "take care" in the eyes of his classmates.

Hoare handed the crystal ball to Professor McGonagall and hurried to catch up, realizing he still had the broom. He ran back to place it on the lawn.

This back-and-forth left a considerable distance between him and Snape.

Hoare rushed to catch up, expecting Snape to be far ahead, but was surprised to find Snape waiting for him.

Snape stood in the shadows of the corridor, almost blending into Hogwarts.

Hoare noticed Snape's gaze fixed on him.

It felt like he was being scrutinized.

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