Theodore stared at the system messages and his expression went a bit odd.
Seriously?
They were… fired up?
He thought for a moment.
"Looks like the difficulty still isn't high enough," he muttered. "We'll have to bump it up."
Over the next few nights, Harry and the others kept returning to the gauntlet.
Compared to that first miserable attempt, they were completely different people.
Facing Fluffy now, even as they panted and stumbled under the sheer pressure of being chased, they could still hold their focus well enough to cast spells accurately. Their wandwork remained steady instead of dissolving into flailing.
Under this high-pressure training, Hermione's Shield Charms and Harry's Disarming Charms improved at a frightening pace.
But every time they walked into the gauntlet, something would have… changed.
Fluffy's strength, speed, and resistance to magic were all climbing.
The Devil's Snare and Biting Cabbages were thicker, tougher.
The Biting Cabbages' pots had been upgraded too—casters had been swapped for skateboards. Several of the plants were already zipping around with surprising skill.
Harry and the others had no doubt that if this went on, eventually the Cabbages would be taking to the air on broomsticks.
Because the gauntlet kept scaling up, they never felt like things were getting easier—only that the pressure never let up.
Every time they thought about quitting, they remembered Theodore.
"We're this weak and we've already suffered this much," one of them would say quietly. "Even if his talent is incredible, Theodore must've suffered way more than we have."
"Keep going. We have to keep going."
[ The killing formations turn, murderous intent thickens. Nezha and the others have been trapped within for days, and still the formations' power only grows. ]
[ Yet they grit their teeth and hold their ground. Their Dao hearts do not fear wind or frost. ]
Theodore couldn't help but smile.
Harry and the others might not see their own progress, but with his Piercing Subtlety Heavenly Eye, he could.
Every one of them—even Neville—could easily crush any other first-year now. They were worlds apart from where they'd started.
Especially Harry.
His grasp of theory still didn't match Hermione's, but he was a pure-blooded talent monster. His innate magic was simply stronger.
Add to that the influence of Voldemort's soul fragment lodged in his scar, and Harry's willpower and magical instincts were sharpening at an insane speed.
If it kept up like this, Theodore was almost sure Harry could cast a Patronus before his second year.
Harry's broom skills had also skyrocketed, thanks to Theodore's lovingly sadistic broom-flight maze. Compared to his "original" self, this Harry was basically epic-tier buffed.
Theodore's own progress in gathering ingredients for the Demon-Refining Pill was another story.
He already had what he needed for plant-type and flesh-type "demons."
But he still lacked the crucial metal-stone demon to harmonize the others' demonic energy.
With his current level of alchemy, he could refine the pill using only the first two types. But the pill's quality would suffer, and he wouldn't be able to thoroughly eliminate the hidden risks.
Theodore wasn't that desperate. He wasn't about to gamble his foundation on a flawed batch of pills.
He'd spent several days searching for signs of a suitable metal-stone demon, even using his Heavenly Eye to scan the Forbidden Forest.
There he did find more potential plant and flesh candidates—Acromantulas, for instance, would make a fine blood-type component someday.
But a decent metal-stone demon?
Nothing.
Stones or ores with real spiritual awareness were rare in both worlds.
He frowned.
"If I still haven't found anything in a few days," he thought, "I'll go talk to Dumbledore. See if his network can dig something up."
With that in mind, he went back up to the dorm—and stopped cold.
Because Harry was doing his makeup.
At this point, the roommates were used to it. Harry's experiments with makeup and cross-dressing had long since stopped being shocking.
But today was different.
He was doing full glam. Every detail from eyelashes to foundation was being done with painstaking care.
Even Theodore raised a brow.
"Something going on, Harry?"
Harry—who, when fully done up, his friends jokingly called "Holly"—looked up, eyes shining.
"Theodore, Wood told me something today, and it'll probably be announced soon anyway."
"Apparently, to help everyone get over the shadow from the fire, Dumbledore's moving the Quidditch season forward. In three days we're playing the opening match against Slytherin!"
"And there are special perks this time. The winning team's Beaters and Chasers get to keep a Bludger and a Quaffle as long as they don't let them run wild in the school. And the Seeker gets to keep the Golden Snitch."
"That's the most valuable ball in Quidditch!"
"I heard my dad was a Seeker for his House team back then."
"This time, I get to play his position. And if I do it in full makeup… it's like Mum's with me too."
"Out there on the pitch, it'll be like both of them are at my side…"
He kept talking excitedly, clearly over the moon about his first match.
Theodore listened—but his attention sharpened around one point.
The Golden Snitch.
Forged entirely of gold, infused with advanced magic, imbued with its own faint consciousness.
If that wasn't a metal-stone demon, what was?
And the Bludgers—though cruder—had obvious spiritual quirks too. They'd qualify as lesser metal-stone demons.
He'd focused all his attention on the Forbidden Forest and forgotten that Quidditch had all the ingredients he needed flying right over his head.
As that thought hit, the system text resurfaced.
[ From young Nezha you learn that, to calm hearts and spur disciples on, Southern Pole Immortal and the Twelve Golden Immortals have decided to hold a Sect Grand Tournament in three days, to test the leading disciples' Dao. ]
[ Southern Pole Immortal has promised rich rewards for the victors. ]
[ With the Great Tribulation looming, cultivation is a race. The host is urged to fight for every scrap of resource! ]
Theodore's lips curled.
"'Sect Grand Tournament,' huh?"
"It's just Quidditch, for heaven's sake…"
"But if I want those Demon-Refining ingredients, I'll have to fight for them."
"Which means—sorry in advance, Malfoy. Someone has to bear the sin of 'cultivator bullying local wizards.' It can be me."
Meanwhile, news of the early Quidditch opener had spread, and the castle erupted.
Quidditch was the sport at Hogwarts. Nothing came close.
Students nearly vibrated with impatience. They wanted to sleep and wake up three days later, just to see the match.
"Gryffindor's got four Nimbus 2000s now!"
"We saw Harry in flying class. He's brilliant—he's going to be the best Seeker."
"And Theodore—don't forget Theodore. You saw how he flew out of the Fiendfyre, and the way he hit Flint last time… he was born to be a Beater. He's going to knock the Slytherins right out of the sky."
"Yeah, but Slytherin's got a full squad of Nimbus 2000s, too. I heard Malfoy's been training like mad—they're out on the pitch almost every night. Hard to say who'll win."
The students weren't even the ones looking forward to the match the most.
Quirrell was.
When the five-coloured lightning had come down last time, he'd almost died on the spot. If not for Hogwarts' protections and Voldemort burning what remained of his strength, Quirrell would've been a smear on the ground.
Even so, half his life felt gone. His whole body had been wrapped in bandages, and only yesterday had he been allowed out of bed.
In Quirrell's mind, all of that was because of Theodore Ashbourne.
The Quidditch match was exactly the method he'd originally thought of—his clean, public way to kill Theodore.
He no longer had room in his heart for logic or caution. His thoughts had gone twisted and narrow, his eyes bloodshot.
"I'm going to find a spot as close as possible to the pitch," he muttered, breath harsh.
"So my curse will hit with the greatest effect."
"I want to watch him fall off that broom and smash to pieces."
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