Chapter 420: Harry Severely Injured

In a situation where skill levels are roughly matched, the loss of a single key player can completely tilt the outcome of a match. As expected, Gryffindor’s aggressive opening pace quickly fell apart after one of their Chasers ran into serious trouble.

If this match were an LPL game, it would be like the leading team suddenly having their gaming mouse fail mid-fight, replaced by a flimsy, slightly laggy backup, while their keyboard was swapped with one full of key conflicts and input delay. The result was already easy to imagine.

Their entire coordination collapsed.

The Quaffle was repeatedly seized by Ilvermorny’s players. The twins—who normally stabilized the field—were now tightly marked by opposing Chasers who had been freed up. Under such pressure, Gryffindor’s lead not only vanished, but widened into a thirty-point deficit.

At this point, even catching the Golden Snitch would no longer be enough to change the outcome.

The gap was simply too large.

And then, disaster struck again.

At that moment, both Seekers—Ilvermorny’s and Harry’s—suddenly accelerated at the same time. Following their line of sprint, Allen immediately caught sight of a fleeting golden flash.

The Golden Snitch.

Harry’s true task was not just to catch it.

It was to prevent the opponent from catching it.

He needed to stall the match, buy time for his teammates to recover their rhythm, adapt to their new broom, and slowly rebuild their coordination. Only then could they attempt to close the gap again.

It was not an easy role.

And for a second-year student with a light build, it was even worse.

Although Harry reached the Snitch slightly faster, his attempt to defend it was immediately crushed by the physically stronger opponent. Their mid-air collision quickly turned into chaotic grappling and illegal shoving that barely stayed within the rules.

Then—

Ilvermorny’s Beater, now free, let out a cold laugh and swung his bat.

BOOM!

A Bludger shot forward like a cannonball.

If not for George shouting a warning in time, Harry would have been struck directly. He rolled his broom at the last second, narrowly avoiding a fatal hit.

But that single moment of disruption was enough.

The Ilvermorny Seeker broke through Harry’s defense.

He was now only half an arm’s length away from the Snitch.

The crowd let out a collective sigh of despair.

And then—

A violent collision shattered that certainty.

Harry forced his broom into the opponent’s path, knocking him off balance. That brief interruption caused the Snitch to vanish once again.

Neither of them got it.

What followed was a surge of rage.

The Ilvermorny Seeker’s eyes turned bloodshot.

"You dare—! Who gave you the right—"

He never finished.

In the next instant, the towering boy—built like a gorilla—abruptly abandoned his broom and lunged at Harry in mid-air.

BOOM!

The impact sent both of them crashing downward.

Even emergency spells arrived too late. They were too close to the ground.

Harry was pinned beneath the opponent. A mouthful of blood spilled out immediately.

If the referee had not intervened in time, the Seeker might have struck again.

The opponent wasn’t unscathed either—his arms had been trapped underneath during the fall and were both broken.

The whistle finally blew.

Match suspended.

Chasers substituted.

A penalty awarded to Hogwarts.

The game continued.

"You’re saying that was intentional murder! That bastard did it on purpose—everyone saw it clearly!"

Angry voices erupted across the stands.

But in Quidditch rules—

It was still only considered a foul.

Those who understood the sport could only grit their teeth.

"We had no choice... We should be thankful Harry bought us that time."

"If he doesn’t recover soon, and their full Seeker returns, it’s over. There’s no way we can close that score gap in time."

And they were right.

Even as Gryffindor adjusted to their new broom, recovering the score would take far too long—long enough for the opposing Seeker to recover fully. His injuries were significantly lighter than Harry’s.

Despair slowly spread across Hogwarts’ supporters.

At that moment, Allen quietly stood up and left his seat.

=======

When he arrived at his destination, both headmistresses had already taken control of the area.

Professor McGonagall’s expression was extremely grim.

Harry’s condition was far worse than expected.

Naturally, the opposing headmistress noticed Allen as well.

"Allen," she said coldly, "I understand you may have a personal relationship with the injured student, but this is not a visiting hour. Unless you want detention with Filch for a week, return to the stands immediately."

Allen didn’t even blink.

His cat was probably already "on friendly terms" with Filch anyway.

"What if I said I might be able to help?" he replied calmly. "I’ve been researching herbology and healing applications recently. I think I can try treating him—at the very least, I won’t make it worse."

Professor McGonagall hesitated.

Allen’s reputation in Herbology was well known. Professor Sprout had personally praised his talent more than once. For a student to inherit such knowledge wasn’t unusual.

Finally, she allowed it.

Harry Potter—still unconscious—was handed over to Allen for treatment.

As a test subject.

That alone made the opposing headmistress scoff.

"Has Hogwarts really fallen so low? You’re letting an underage student handle this kind of injury? Or perhaps you should entrust him to our school healer. I guarantee he will be properly treated."

The atmosphere instantly turned sharp.

The line had been drawn.

No one was pretending anymore.

Not here.

Not at this stage of the competition.

Because in the end—

Friendship came second.

Victory came first.

.....

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