The air was crisp and cold as the students of Hogwarts spilled into the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Scarlet and gold banners flared like fire in the late autumn sun, waving enthusiastically above the Gryffindor stands. Elise sat in the front row, his eyes sharp and observant—not only watching the match but also the crowd itself.
It was the first match of the season: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
The team soared into the sky, Harry Potter's nervous energy barely masked as he kicked off the ground with surprising skill. Elise could see the boy's eyes scan the field, searching for the elusive Golden Snitch. Wood, the captain, bellowed orders, and the game exploded into motion.
Beside Elise sat Hermione and Ron, both on edge. Ron, for all his usual laziness, practically leaned over the edge of the seat, gripping the railing.
"He's actually good," Ron muttered, awestruck.
"Of course he is," Hermione replied, not taking her eyes off the sky.
Elise, however, was distracted by something else. A subtle prickling sensation ran down the back of his neck—a warning from the system. Something wasn't right.
[System Alert: Passive Magical Detection Triggered – High-Intensity Dark Magic Nearby]
His eyes narrowed.
He began to scan the crowd. Across the stadium, high in the staff seating, Professor Quirrell sat uncharacteristically still, muttering under his breath. At first glance, it looked like nervousness—but Elise's enhanced senses could see the faint shimmer of controlled magic radiating from Quirrell's turban-covered head, streaming toward the pitch like a thread.
"Something's wrong," Elise said under his breath.
Then it happened.
Harry's broom jerked.
The young Seeker swayed in the air, clutching the handle as if it had suddenly come to life. The broom pitched violently left, then right, sending the boy nearly tumbling from it. Gasps rose from the crowd.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed.
Wood called a timeout, but Harry couldn't hear. The broom was no longer under his control.
Elise shot to his feet, hand gripping the wand hidden beneath his robes. His mind whirled. If Quirrell was the source—if he was channeling dark magic to jinx the broom—then there was little time to act.
"Hermione, do you trust me?" he asked.
She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What—?"
"Do you trust me?"
She nodded, trembling.
"Then go around. Make your way to the staff stands. Get to Quirrell. Break his line of sight. I'll handle the rest."
She didn't question him again. Hermione bolted.
Ron stared after her in confusion. "What's she—?"
"Watch," Elise said, already stepping away.
Meanwhile, in the sky, Harry was hanging on by sheer will. His broom dipped again, rolling like a wave in a storm. The Slytherins were laughing now, clearly thinking it was some trick or nerves. But the professors had grown uneasy. Snape had stood, scanning the field—and yet Elise could see the truth. Snape was muttering counter-curses.
Quirrell was jinxing the broom.
Snape was trying to stop it.
Elise gritted his teeth. He opened the system quietly.
[System Menu – Fate Points: 92]
> Purchase: Minor Magical Intervention Charm (Instant Use – 70 Fate Points)
> Confirm?
He pressed confirm.
A warm pulse of power surged through him. He whispered under his breath, channeling the charm through his wand. The enchantment flew like a silent breeze, wrapping around Harry's broom like a protective ward.
Above them, Harry suddenly steadied—still wobbling, but in control again.
At the same moment, Hermione reached Quirrell's stand, knocking over the professor's turban with a burst of blue flame from her wand. He shouted, startled, and flinched back.
The spell was broken.
The broom obeyed again. Harry dove forward in a single, elegant arc—his hand outstretched—and caught the Snitch.
The stadium exploded with cheers.
Elise exhaled in relief. The danger had passed—but the game had changed.
Later that Evening – Gryffindor Common Room
Harry, now an unofficial hero, was surrounded by jubilant students. Fred and George carried him over their shoulders as Ron shouted something about "the best Seeker in a century."
But Hermione and Elise remained quietly to the side, seated near the fireplace.
"You knew something was wrong," she said softly.
"I felt it," Elise replied. "Quirrell was the source. But it wasn't just him. There was something… fouler. Like he wasn't the one in control."
Hermione hugged her knees. "Do you think Dumbledore knows?"
"He might suspect. But there's more at play than just a jinxed broom."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't mention the system's warnings, or the way his Fate Points had spiked just before he made the purchase. Someone, or something, wanted him involved. The phoenix he'd seen in his dreams lately—flashes of fire and wings—was no coincidence.
Elsewhere in the Castle – Staff Meeting (Late Night)
Professor McGonagall stood stiffly, recounting the incident with an uncharacteristic frown. "Mr. Potter's broom was clearly tampered with. Had he fallen, we could be looking at a tragedy."
Snape, arms folded, muttered, "Someone used a jinx. Strong. Directed. It wasn't a simple mishap."
"Quirrell?" Dumbledore asked softly.
"No proof," Snape said. "But he was muttering during the incident."
Dumbledore looked tired, older than usual. "And yet another mystery. First the letters from Elias's father, then shadowed magic… now this."
"Elise," McGonagall corrected gently. "He prefers that name."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes. And Elise, again, shows uncanny intuition. He sensed something no one else did."
"There's more to that boy," Snape added reluctantly. "He's not his father."
"No," Dumbledore agreed, gazing out the dark window. "He is something else entirely."