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The game was approaching fast. Though Harry tried to ignore his teammates' chatter, he couldn't shake off his growing nervousness. The other team members weren't any calmer. The thought of finally beating Slytherin in the Academy Cup had everyone excited—after all, no one had managed to defeat them in nearly seven years. But with such an eccentric referee, could they really pull it off?

The next day, Ryan, Ron, and Hermione found their seats in the stands. Neville, sitting beside them, eyed their tightly gripped wands with curiosity.

"Why are you guys acting like you're about to duel someone?" he asked, puzzled.

Hermione had been anxiously listing possible spells they might need, adding to the tension.

Just before the match began, Ryan decisively interrupted her.

"Look at the staff bench." He pointed toward the teachers' section. "Dumbledore is here. That means there won't be any safety issues today."

Hermione and Ron followed his gaze and spotted Dumbledore's unmistakable silver-white beard. Both sighed in relief.

The game started, and just as they were beginning to relax, someone jabbed Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley. Didn't see you there," he sneered, grinning at Crabbe and Goyle.

"I wonder how long Potter will stay on his broomstick this time. Anyone up for a bet? What do you think, Weasley?"

Most of the group ignored Malfoy, more focused on Harry's performance. But Malfoy wasn't about to stop. His taunts intensified until Ron, unable to hold back, lunged at him. The two tumbled onto the stands, fists flying. Ryan, reacting instinctively, cast a weak Stunning Spell at Goyle, causing him to stumble back.

The fight quickly turned into a full-blown scuffle. Though Ryan's spell wasn't particularly strong, it was enough to temporarily take Goyle out of the fight. That left Ryan, Ron, and Neville grappling with Malfoy and Crabbe.

Meanwhile, up in the air, Snape had just taken off on his broom when something golden whizzed past his ear—just inches away. In the next moment, Harry came out of his dive, his arm raised triumphantly, the Snitch clutched tightly in his hand.

The stands erupted in deafening cheers. It was a new record—no one could remember the Snitch ever being caught so quickly.

"Ryan, Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry won! We won! Gryffindor is ahead!" Hermione shrieked, bouncing on her seat as she hugged Parvati Patil.

Ryan and Ron, still laughing despite their bruises and nosebleeds, got up and joined the jubilant crowd.

The celebration lasted nearly an hour before everyone began heading back to the castle. As they walked, Harry slowly approached from a distance.

"Harry! Where have you been?" Hermione demanded.

"We won! You won!" Ron cheered, clapping Harry on the back. "Malfoy and his gang got knocked out. Ryan stunned Goyle first, and then we fought three-on-two. We got a bit roughed up, but it was worth it. The whole house is waiting for you in the common room. Fred and George even snuck some cake from the kitchens!"

"Forget about that," Harry said breathlessly. "We need to find an empty room. I have something important to tell you."

After making sure Peeves wasn't lurking around, Harry shut the door behind them and launched into his story, recounting everything he had just witnessed between Snape and Quirrell.

"So, we were right all along—it really is the Philosopher's Stone. Snape was trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He kept pressing Quirrell, asking if he knew how to get past Lou Williams. And then he mentioned Quirrell's 'secret trick'—which means besides Lou Williams, there must be other magical protections guarding the stone. Quirrell must have set up spells to block dark magic, and Snape needs to break them."

"You're saying the Philosopher's Stone is only safe as long as Quirrell can resist Snape?" Hermione asked, her voice full of concern.

Ryan, pressing ice to his swollen eye, shook his head. "No, that's an assumption. What Harry overheard doesn't confirm anything. In fact, it sounded like Snape was actually warning Quirrell about something. Maybe he's on to Quirrell's secret dealings."

"Oh, come on," Ron scoffed. "Just because Snape's been giving you decent grades lately doesn't mean he's suddenly a good guy. I bet even the Slytherins don't brew better potions than you, Ryan. He probably gave them an O just to be difficult."

Harry frowned. "I don't know… you're making me second-guess myself now. But I still think Snape is trying to steal the stone."

In the end, the group held a vote, and the majority agreed that Snape was the villain. Ryan, however, remained skeptical.

While Harry and the others firmly believed that Snape was the thief and Quirrell the reluctant guardian, Ryan opted to stay on the sidelines, watching in silence.

Their newfound faith in Quirrell had some strange effects. Harry started giving him encouraging smiles in the corridors. Ron even told people to stop making fun of his stutter. Ryan, meanwhile, could only watch in exasperation. If Voldemort—who was practically glued to Quirrell—knew about this, he'd probably regret his choices.

But for Ryan, the Philosopher's Stone was only a side concern. The most pressing matter at the moment was preparing for the final exams. After all, as a student, academics still mattered. At Hogwarts, exam performance was directly tied to future career prospects.

Hermione, naturally, was the first to start preparing. When Ryan joined her for review sessions, he was stunned to see her notebook covered in multicolored annotations and detailed study plans.

Under her strict guidance, Ryan kept adjusting his own review strategy. To his horror, he realized that Hermione's schedule was even more intense than the one he had followed during his previous life's college entrance exams. But given that an eleven-year-old girl had managed to create it, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and keep up.

Harry and Ron, however, had no such concerns.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away," Harry complained as she nagged them for the hundredth time.

"Ten weeks," Hermione corrected. "Not 'ages.' That's nothing! Just a blink of an eye for Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old, are we?" Ron countered. "And honestly, why are you even studying? You already know everything."

"Why am I studying? Are you insane? We need to pass these exams to get into second year! They're important! I should've started revising a month ago! I can't believe I wasted so much time—"

Ryan watched their argument unfold from the sidelines, shrinking into his chair in an attempt to avoid being dragged in.

It was official: true academic overachievers didn't just study hard themselves—they also tried to force everyone else to do the same. Unfortunately, the "everyone else" in this case didn't quite appreciate it.

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