Basil's attention returned to the match.
Harry and Draco were practically blurs.
Their speed wasn't much faster than the others.
But their dodging and weaving were incredibly smooth, each change of direction unexpected and unpredictable.
Malfoy's hard work and their competition in flying class had pushed Harry's skills to improve as well.
The Wronski Feint was a signature move of world-class Seeker Viktor Krum.
Even Lynch, another world-class player, couldn't pull it off.
In the original books, Harry could perfectly replicate it after seeing it just once.
This genius Seeker, spurred on by Malfoy's competition, was finally displaying jaw-dropping skill.
But what surprised Basil most was that Malfoy wasn't lagging behind either.
The score between Slytherin and Gryffindor was now 90 to 100.
As soon as a Seeker caught the Snitch, the match would end and the winner would be decided.
Flint and the other Slytherin players tried dirty tricks, some even blatant.
But Harry dodged them all perfectly.
The same went for the Weasley twins' surprise attacks on Malfoy.
Everyone in the stands held their breath.
Even Lee Jordan, the commentator, forgot to speak.
They were all immersed in this high-level match.
Finally, a shout from Ron broke the silence.
"Look! The Snitch!"
In the azure sky, two flight paths spiraled towards a glint of gold flashing in the sunlight.
Bole, a Beater for Slytherin, got distracted for a moment and was hit by a Bludger sent by either Fred or George.
However, no one paid him any mind.
Because those two spiraling flight paths leveled out.
Harry Potter waved his right hand, the silver wings of the Golden Snitch fluttering between his fingers.
Draco Malfoy hovered dejectedly to the side, his eyes full of unwillingness.
His broom was just a tiny bit slower.
The Cleansweep Seven couldn't beat the Nimbus 2000.
Lee Jordan shouted the results joyfully—Gryffindor wins, 250 to 90.
Harry landed and was mobbed by the rushing crowd.
Malfoy returned to the green-clad team.
"I failed."
He said softly.
Flint's large hand landed on his shoulder. "No, you didn't lose! Look around!"
Malfoy looked up. Unknowingly, students had gathered around him too.
Their eyes were filled with admiration and smiles.
Flint shouted, "Come on, let's hear it for our House's genius!!"
In the other crowd, Ron looked at this scene with complex emotions.
"Why... I don't feel like there's anything wrong with this."
Just now, when he saw Malfoy's dejected face, he hadn't felt happy about it either.
His joy at that moment was purely because of Gryffindor's victory and Harry catching the Snitch.
"Malfoy's skill won you over," Basil said, arms crossed. "You don't need to feel weird about it. It's purely because of your love for Quidditch. Plus, Malfoy didn't cheat and trained hard all day."
Hermione chimed in, "It's hard to hate someone who works hard."
"If only I could be like Hagrid!" Ron sighed.
Basil looked over at Hagrid, only to see him muttering, "Born evil, that Malfoy brat!"
However, Harry didn't hear any of this.
Twenty minutes later, he was back at Hagrid's hut with Basil, Hermione, and Ron, the host brewing him a cup of strong tea.
Harry sighed, "It's great to have a rival like Malfoy!"
Clang!
Hagrid slammed the teapot back onto the stove.
"Nonsense! It's all lies!"
"Harry. Don't be fooled!"
"I once thought Slytherin could have good people too. He was a Prefect, then Head Boy. Every student except Dumbledore liked him. Excellent grades, got 12 O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts."
"He was exceptionally patient with students like me."
"But it was all lies! He framed me! Got Myrtle killed! Got me expelled! Later he even became He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
"Harry! Remember, there isn't a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. Slytherins are all rotten to the core!"
Hagrid buried his face in his dustbin-lid-sized hands and sobbed like a child.
Completely unaware of how shocking his words were.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other, unable to digest what they had just heard.
Basil, meanwhile, shared everything he saw and heard with Riddle the moment Hagrid exploded.
In the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle's expression was unreadable. "Rubeus, my junior."
"What? Does Voldemort feel guilt?" Basil couldn't help but mock.
"Yes," Riddle answered decisively. "This is the余裕 (leeway/margin) of the strong. Now that I am immortal, I allow myself these weaknesses. To live more true to myself than anyone else, to live forever. Perhaps this is why, in the story you told, 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2', when I captured Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, I chose not to kill him. Not even torture."
In the hut, Harry stammered, "You and You-Know-Who were schoolmates? How old are you?"
"62, why?" Hagrid subconsciously ignored Voldemort's name.
"62?" Harry rubbed his eyes, looking at Hagrid's baby face that looked at most 30. He couldn't imagine Hagrid was that old.
Basil wasn't very surprised.
He knew Voldemort was 64 from Riddle.
But even so, he had thought Hagrid was in his fifties. He didn't expect Hagrid and Voldemort to be only two years apart.
Half a second later, Hagrid snapped back to reality. "Forget I said anything!"
He seemed very irritable and ashamed. "This has nothing to do with you! Don't you have any sympathy? This is my shame!"
"Oh," Hermione's eyes reddened with emotion, "It's not your fault, Hagrid. Knowing You-Know-Who isn't something to be ashamed of."
"Then can you stop repeating that name? Dumbledore says we shouldn't fear it, but who is as great as him? I mean, can you leave me alone for a while?" Hagrid was a bit incoherent.
On the way back to the castle, Ron was full of regret. "We actually just left like that! You-Know-Who! Hagrid was his classmate! And was tricked by him! We could have learned about You-Know-Who's school days up close from Hagrid! How cool would that be!"
Basil shrugged. "Actually, I know. If you guys knew about the Trophy Room."
"In there..." Harry stopped abruptly. "There's a trophy won by You-Know-Who?"
Basil nodded. "There's a very rare award in there: Special Award for Services to the School. Hagrid was expelled in June 1942, when he was 13, in his third year. Myrtle also died that year. At the same time, someone won this award. Combined with Hagrid saying he was framed."
"That person is You-Know-Who!" Hermione raised her hand to answer.
"Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Basil.
"You-Know-Who has such a common name?" Ron was in disbelief.
"Common?" Basil smiled wickedly. He pulled his wand from his pocket.
He traced in the air, writing three shimmering names:
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
Then he waved his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves to become:
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT