Chapter 47: Not Snape?

Edward roared, swinging his arm in a wide arc at the five stunned Quidditch players before him. The blessing of glory, combined with the two-meter-long magical greatsword, left the players frozen in place. "Ironclad Armor!" a fifth-year student shouted desperately, casting a Shield Charm. But the charm was useless. The magical sword's force sent him flying, crashing into a second student, who then toppled a third, like dominoes. All five were swept aside, groaning and clutching various parts of their bodies, unable to stand. Flint lay sprawled to the side like a dead pig. The corridor fell silent, save for the swirling dust and scattered debris. "Good heavens! What happened here?" "Oh, haven't you figured it out yet, Wood?" "Your eyes must need a checkup! That's Flint on the ground!" A confused voice and two gleeful ones echoed from the end of the corridor. Edward looked over to see Gryffindor's team captain, Oliver Wood, alongside the Weasley twins, Fred and George, clearly still buzzing from their Quidditch victory. "Merlin's beard, did you do this alone? Did they come at you?" Wood asked, stepping around the sprawled Slytherin players, his voice a mix of shock and admiration. "This is rare, Edward!" "Rare doesn't even cover it, Bedivere!" "Flint's face is swollen like a pig's head!" The Weasley twins each slung an arm around Edward's shoulders, their voices harmonizing like a duet, making him feel a bit embarrassed. "Sorry you had to see that," Edward said, shaking his head with a wry smile. He didn't want to fight classmates, but some people left him no choice. He felt Slytherin still had a long way to go before things could return to normal. "Could you guys do me a favor? Help me get them to the hospital wing? I was heading there anyway." The Weasley brothers lit up like they'd been injected with energy. Though they'd just come from visiting Harry in the hospital wing, they assured him it was no trouble at all. Along the way, they "accidentally" kept bumping Flint's head against the corridor's corners. The hospital wing, on the castle's second floor, was a typical infirmary—crisp white sheets, blankets, curtains, floors, and even some medical tools, all in white. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, must really love the color. Edward had only been inside once before, when he'd brought Padma and Blaise, tangled in Devil's Snare, for treatment. Since then, the Patil sisters always greeted him warmly, and even the usually reserved Blaise gave him a nod. The room was quiet, with only a few figures gathered around one bed, one of them taking up two chairs. "Hey, Edward! Over here!" Harry spotted the brown-haired figure and waved eagerly from the doorway. Ron and Hermione turned to look, followed by the massive figure of Hagrid, Hogwarts' gamekeeper. But their stunned gazes quickly shifted to what was behind Edward. "Oh, Merlin! What did you lot do? Fred? George?" Ron exclaimed. Hovering behind Edward were the pale-faced Slytherin players, with Flint looking particularly unrecognizable, accompanied by the smirking Weasley twins and a stern-faced Wood. "Just a little... disagreement," Edward explained honestly, quickly calling for Madam Pomfrey from inside the room. Seeing the unconscious Slytherin players, Madam Pomfrey declared she'd urge Dumbledore to cancel Quidditch altogether. Though she often scolded students and was strict, one good thing about her was that she never asked why students ended up in her care. After helping Madam Pomfrey settle the Slytherin players in another room, Edward said goodbye to the grinning twins and the serious Wood, finally sitting by Harry's bed. "Hi, Edward. Harry and the others keep talking about you. Heard you've got Malfoy completely under control, eh?" Hagrid said warmly, extending a hand for a shake. He wasn't expecting Edward to match his grip with equal strength. "Hey, Hagrid," Edward greeted, then turned to Harry on the bed. "How're you feeling, Harry?" "I'm fine, really! Look!" Harry sat up quickly, showing off his hands, which only had faint scratches from grass, healing visibly. "I don't know how to thank you, Edward. If it wasn't for you, I might not be here." "Harry's been going on about you the whole way, honestly. Starting to sound like a lovesick girl," Ron muttered. "But seriously, you took down eight Slytherin players by yourself?" Ron's eyes lit up with interest, though Hermione quickly cut him off. "Harry's been dying to leave the hospital wing to thank you, but Madam Pomfrey insists he stays for observation at least through the afternoon," Hermione added. "The Gryffindor team was in here earlier, making a racket about celebrating, but Madam Pomfrey shooed them all out." "It's no big deal. We won Quidditch! Harry caught the Snitch in his first match! Oh, sorry, Edward, I didn't mean—" Hermione caught herself mid-sentence, realizing her words might sting, given Edward's house. They'd even started thinking of Edward as an honorary Gryffindor, especially after he'd dealt with Flint and his crew for bullying Harry. "No worries. Gryffindor won fair and square—you earned it. Especially Harry, holding on like that under those conditions," Edward said with a wave, dismissing any tension. The conversation finally shifted to what he wanted to discuss. "Oh, by the way, Edward, how did you know it was Snape cursing Harry?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice. Edward pulled up a chair and sat down, countering, "Professor Snape? Why would you think it was him, Hermione?" "We saw it with our own eyes!" Ron said, eyes wide. "The Gryffindor stands are right across from the staff section, and Hermione noticed Snape staring at Harry, muttering a spell." "Nonsense. Snape's a Hogwarts professor. Why would he curse Harry?" Hagrid interjected. "But we all saw it! And like I said, as soon as Edward and I set the staff stands on fire, Harry could climb back onto his broom. That proves something!" Hermione insisted loudly. "That's impossible. You don't understand—Professor Snape would never try to kill Harry. He lo—" Hagrid stopped himself, clamping a hand over his bearded mouth. "Never mind, I can't say." "I agree with Hagrid. It could be another professor, but it's definitely not Snape. Harry, you're special to him, I can guarantee that," Edward added. He recalled the fleeting moment of softness in Snape's eyes when he looked at Harry during their first class. Harry looked crestfallen. He'd thought Edward, of all people, would believe them, especially with such clear evidence. "Oh, really? Special? Feels more like he especially hates me," Harry muttered. "Wait, special? Are you saying Snape might be a—" Ron raised a finger, about to have a wild idea, but Hermione stuffed a licorice wand in his mouth. "I don't know where you learned that word, Ronald, but you'd better not say it," she warned. To avoid Madam Pomfrey kicking them out, Edward stood to leave. As he did, he ended up with a big bag of snacks—gifts from Harry's fans that Harry insisted he take. "If it wasn't for you, I'd have been dead before two months into term," Harry said. Munching on the snacks, Edward mulled over the new information. It seemed Hermione's presence below the staff stands had confirmed something. His blessing of sincerity told him Hermione and Ron weren't lying. Snape had indeed been staring at Harry's broom and muttering a spell, but Edward trusted his judgment about Snape. He'd considered whether the person cursing Harry and the one who let the troll into the school might be different, but he dismissed that quickly. What, was Hogwarts a den for dark wizards now? Two or more terrorists running amok? Might as well shut the school down! His judgment clashed with the facts, and after some thought, Edward came up with a plan. It might be foolish or reckless, but it was direct, effective, and something only he could pull off. Why not just ask Professor Snape himself? read more inpatreon ilham20