Chapter 162: Russell's Fury
Harry suddenly felt it—
The violent shaking of his broom stopped.
For the first time in his life, the broom felt obedient.
He immediately scrambled back onto it.
At the same time, Wednesday noticed the change. Her eyes narrowed as she swung her bat with full force.
The Bludger exploded forward like a black comet, tearing through the air straight toward Harry Potter.
Harry had barely gotten back on his broom.
He didn't even have time to dodge.
The fierce wind of the incoming Bludger was already pressing against his face.
His heart clenched—
He raised both arms instinctively to block—
But at that moment, Fred Weasley and George Weasley shot in front of him.
Their bats crossed together—
CLANG!
They deflected Wednesday's deadly strike.
Judging from their strained expressions, it was far from easy.
Below, Neville Longbottom was curled up in Rubeus Hagrid's crumb-covered coat, quietly sobbing.
Suddenly, Ron slapped his back.
"Look up!"
A red streak cut across the sky.
Harry dove like a wounded bird—
Two seconds after hitting the ground, he clutched his throat and gagged.
Then—
As he knelt on the grass—
A golden glint slipped between his fingers.
The Golden Snitch.
"I've got it!"
Harry jumped up, clutching the tiny golden ball.
Across the pitch, Marcus Flint roared furiously:
"He didn't catch it! He nearly swallowed it!"
But his protests were drowned out by the deafening cheers of the Gryffindor stands.
From above, Lee Jordan's voice rang out:
"One hundred and seventy to one hundred and sixty—Gryffindor wins!"
His wand burst into brilliant red-and-gold sparks, filling the sky.
Unlike Gryffindor's jubilation, the Slytherin team wore dark expressions.
Their Seeker looked especially miserable, his face hanging like a funeral mask.
Wednesday's expression remained as cold as ever—
But deep down, she was displeased.
If the Chasers had scored just one more goal… they would have won.
She glanced at her teammates without a trace of emotion.
How can you win anything with a group of fools like this?
A thought quietly formed in her mind—
Maybe it's time for a new Slytherin.
At that moment, Cyrian Rosier flew over, gripping a Bludger.
His mind was clouded with rage.
He had been toyed with repeatedly by the Weasley twins, and his anger had reached its peak.
"Addams!" he shouted.
"Why didn't you go after Potter? What—too proud to dirty your hands?"
Wednesday didn't even turn her head.
To her, he was nothing.
That indifference snapped the last thread of Rosier's restraint.
Without caring about the shocked looks from his teammates, he swung his bat with all his strength—
And sent the Bludger hurtling toward Wednesday.
She only heard the rush of wind behind her.
No time to turn.
She pulled her broom upward instinctively—
But it was too close.
THUD.
The Bludger slammed into her back.
The impact knocked her clean off her broom.
She dropped from the air—
Fortunately, they weren't too high above the ground.
Otherwise, the consequences would have been disastrous.
The professors—
Still caught between Gryffindor's victory and Slytherin's frustration—
hadn't been paying attention.
And everything had happened far too suddenly.
For a brief moment—
No one reacted in time.
But-
Russell reacted instantly.
The moment Rosier swung his bat, Russell had already sprung to his feet, ready to rush onto the pitch. But the stands were packed with cheering students—he was blocked in place.
At first, he tried to cast the Shield Charm—
—but just as he raised his wand, a student in front of him suddenly stood up, completely blocking his line of fire.
Then—
he saw Wednesday fall from her broom.
A surge of panic hit him—
followed by something darker.
A flicker of madness.
"Clear the way!"
With a sharp shout, Russell cast a spell. The students in front of him felt an invisible force pull them aside, instantly opening a narrow path.
He charged down from the stands—
wand already aimed at Cyrian Rosier, who was still frozen mid-swing on his broom.
"Sectumsempra."
The invisible slash tore through the air.
Whether by instinct or sheer luck, Rosier suddenly raised his bat horizontally to block—
CRACK.
The bat—reinforced with magic—split cleanly in half.
As if struck by an unseen blade.
"Help—!"
Only then did Rosier realize what was happening.
He fumbled for his wand to retaliate—
—but in his panic, he lost his grip.
The wand spun through the air, bounced off his broom, and shot off to the side before stabbing into the ground.
His face turned pale.
With no other choice, he yanked his broom upward, trying to escape the attack range.
"Running?"
Russell's eyes darkened, a cold glint flashing within them.
This time, his wand didn't aim at Rosier—
—but at the broom beneath him.
"Sectumsempra."
SNAP.
Rosier heard it.
A sound that filled him with despair.
He looked down—
The broom's tail had been severed from the handle.
The magic sustaining it collapsed instantly.
It became nothing more than a broken wooden stick.
"AAAAAH—!"
His body dropped—
plummeting toward the ground.
Only now did the professors react.
Just as Russell was about to cast a third Sectumsempra—
they moved.
Because the spell was invisible, they couldn't directly see it—only attempt to block it based on instinct and experience.
Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick both tried—
and failed.
But Severus Snape succeeded.
His sharp eyes tracked Russell's wand movement, the timing of his incantation—
He predicted the trajectory.
Face dark as storm clouds, he cast:
"Finite Incantatem."
The counter-spell struck true—
intercepting the invisible curse mid-flight.
And yet—
Snape's expression didn't improve.
It worsened.
"That's… impossible…"
He muttered under his breath.
Because right before his eyes—
Rosier's chest—
his Slytherin-green uniform—
split open cleanly.
And blood—
erupted outward.