Among this group of young witches and wizards were many lower-year students.
Harry clearly saw several upper-year students gripping their wands and aiming at the Bludger, as if trying to blast it, but they hesitated when they saw the younger lions around Harry.
These lower-year students, however, knew few spells and had no other means of response besides clumsily blocking Harry.
But the hidden hand controlling the Bludger clearly would not show mercy to the students; if that Bludger hit solidly, death or permanent injury was certain.
Harry's face twisted in discomfort as he forcibly pressed down the two heads that were flailing chaotically beside him.
Dean and Neville, who were terrified and trying to drag Harry backward, were suddenly pushed down.
Then Harry's wand slid out from his sleeve, and a long-prepared spell burst forth: "Reducto!"
An explosion sounded, and the menacing ball closing in burst apart with a bang.
The surroundings fell silent instantly; Harry moved his aching arm and sighed slightly, "Can you let go of me?"
He raised his other good arm, grabbed his dislocated wrist, and with a crack, reset the joint.
Harry was in agony.
His face twitched for a moment before he managed a strained, twisted smile, "If something like this happens again, I hope you won't get in my way."
Although these kids had good intentions, it didn't stop Harry from being angry.
…He was really in pain! He could have gotten through this unscathed, but look at the mess now; they really knew how to cause trouble!
Harry couldn't help but reach up and touch the back of his head, his mood darkening further, "Next time, I'll blast you all together."
Damn it, this little man was about to die from the pain.
Clutching the back of his head, suspecting he might have a subcutaneous hemorrhage, Harry turned with a grim expression and strode away.
Damn it, just thinking about having to spend seven years in this cursed school that seemed to work against him made Harry want to blow up Hogwarts.
To hell with Voldemort!
Under the Reducto curse, the Bludger had been blasted to pieces, and Snape could naturally identify what spell it was and who had cast it.
The Potter brat was quite clever.
After confirming Harry was safe, Snape sat back down in his seat with a sinister expression, turning to find the culprit behind the underhanded actions.
Then he saw Draco.
This platinum-haired young master was still holding a wooden stick, one he had casually grabbed from the sidelines.
When the chaos erupted in the Gryffindor stands, Draco had put his conflict with Harry out of his mind.
He had hurried off, not even bothering to say a word to his friends, and ran down from the Slytherin stands.
The Gryffindor stands were too chaotic; he couldn't help there, so Draco decided to deal with whoever had caused the problem.
That Bludger had undoubtedly been cursed, meant to kill Harry.
The caster couldn't openly draw their wand in public, so to cast the spell successfully, they would have to keep their eyes fixed on the target.
The Quidditch pitch was large and open; if the culprit were hiding in a corner, it would be hard to track the Bludger the entire time, so they had to be in the stands.
Within all of Hogwarts, few had the ability for such magic.
Though Slytherins were fiercely antagonistic towards Gryffindor, Dumbledore was still there, and a bunch of professors were watching; the upper-year students wouldn't dare.
Draco immediately locked his target onto the staff section.
He saw two people muttering spells on the staff stands: one was Professor Snape, the other was garlic-scented Quirrell.
Draco unhesitatingly ruled out his Head of House.
He slipped behind Quirrell from the corner of the staff stands, raised his stick, and struck, hitting the back of his head.
He had given Quirrell a blow to the head with his stick.
Draco used his full strength; the blow made Quirrell's eyes roll back, and he blacked out.
The curse stopped instantly.
Now, Snape stood expressionless, looking at Draco, who had attacked a professor and hadn't even had time to dispose of the weapon.
Draco looked embarrassed and a little guilty.
He awkwardly hid the stick behind his back, screaming internally: Merlin! This was absolutely the most Gryffindor thing he had ever done!
And being caught red-handed by Professor Snape made Draco want to bash his head in.
Snape's lips curled down; he discreetly scanned the area.
Taking advantage of the other professors' attention still being on the Gryffindor section, Snape moved, grabbing Draco by the scruff of his neck and striding towards a corner with him.
"Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you would like to tell me what you did to Professor Quirrell?"
His smooth voice rang out darkly; Draco's eyes darted with changing expressions as he cautiously gauged Snape's demeanor.
Draco keenly sensed that Snape was angry, but not *that* angry.
He even had a hunch that Professor Snape would cover this up.
Since this wouldn't be exposed to the other professors, how was it any different from it never happening?
So Draco's eyes flickered, and he replied slyly, "Professor, I didn't do anything."
"I just got close to Professor Quirrell, and he fainted for no reason."
Snape's dark eyes shifted, landing on the stick in Draco's hand as if in silent questioning.
Draco fidgeted with the stick in his hand, arguing, "I just wanted to find something to hit the Bludger away with."
Snape snorted softly, roughly snatched the stick from Draco's hand, and said coldly, "No next time."
Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
Snape's expression soured further, "And, I believe Lucius has the right to know about this."
Draco's vision went dark.
Harry was back in the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey stood by his bed, hands on her hips, sighing; Harry looked embarrassed, as did Ron and Hermione who were keeping him company.
Harry had initially thought it was just a minor subcutaneous bleed and hadn't paid much attention, thinking as long as it didn't kill him, it was a minor injury.
But after returning to the dormitory from the pitch, he had collapsed in a faint, and the Gryffindors had carried him to the hospital wing in a panic.
…Apparently, the injury was quite serious.
Madam Pomfrey had insisted he stay in bed for ten days or half a month.
The young lions Harry had berated weren't angry anymore; instead, they felt guilty.
No wonder Harry was so mad; if they had been persecuted into such a state, they would have been even angrier.
So, during his time bedridden in the hospital, Harry kept receiving gifts filled with care and apology from his classmates.
Besides the Gryffindors openly crowding around Harry's bed, Harry also noticed a platinum-blond head occasionally appearing at the ward's entrance.
Draco had come too; perhaps he couldn't swallow his pride, so he hadn't entered, but Harry still received his gift, brought in by Madam Pomfrey.
Well, Harry played with the small dark green box and thought smugly: he would forgive him this once and not cause trouble for the young master.
After this incident, everyone profoundly realized just how fragile Harry was, feeling like he could die from a small mistake.
Truthfully, Harry could have healed himself and left the hospital quickly.
But he didn't. Instead, he used his time 'sick' and bedridden to send back the documents Conti had mailed over, along with a letter expressing his profound regret at being unable to work.
At the same time, Harry instructed Conti in the letter to find ways to expand the research team and accelerate the integration of magic and technology.
Conti, far away in Italy, nearly had a brain hemorrhage from anger.