The days slipped by like a bowstring pulled tight.
By the weekend, the tension that had been building across Hogwarts finally found its release on the Quidditch pitch.
If the dungeons and the towers belonged to the schemes and suffering of a few individuals, then the stadium under the open sky belonged to the celebration of the many.
Lucian stood alone in the shadow at the edge of the field.
In the distance, the Gryffindor and Slytherin stands were sharply divided.
Because of the corridor fight a few days earlier, the hostility between the two Houses had completely escalated.
The Slytherin side was filled with banners mocking Gryffindor for losing one hundred and sixty points.
On the Gryffindor side, the atmosphere resembled a volcano ready to erupt.
The sound of broomsticks cutting through the air whistled overhead.
Fred and George hovered above Lucian on their Cleansweep Sevens, one on each side. Each of them held a Beater's bat.
The usual playful grins were gone, replaced by an awkward guilt.
"Look at that, George. Our unlucky Ravenclaw friend."
"Yes indeed, Fred. Seeing him standing there in the shadows nearly breaks my stone heart."
The twins exchanged a glance and lowered their brooms slightly.
Lucian had been caught in the corridor fight and ended up in the hospital wing because of it.
Although Gryffindor had almost lost all its points as a result of that night, the twins—who beneath their carefree attitude valued loyalty deeply—clearly felt uncomfortable about dragging an innocent bystander into their mess.
"About the other night," Fred said, scratching his red hair as he dropped the joking tone. "Malfoy started it, sure, but our side still dragged you into it."
"Sorry, Ashford," George added sincerely, resting his bat on his shoulder. "After the match we'll give you a whole box of our newest dungbombs as compensation, if you don't mind."
"Instead of apologizing, you should worry about the problem in the sky," Lucian said calmly.
He tilted his chin toward the center of the field.
"The referee does not seem inclined to make things easy for you."
The twins followed his gaze.
Snape, dressed entirely in black, walked grimly onto the grass. Without ceremony, he kicked open the crate of Quidditch balls.
The Bludgers and the Quaffle shot into the air immediately.
"Merlin's beard! That old bat!" Fred cursed.
"Thanks, Ravenclaw! We'll send the gift later!" George shouted.
They pulled their brooms upward and shot into the sky, joining the game.
Lucian withdrew his gaze and ignored the small interaction.
His attention was drawn immediately to the nearly invisible streak of gold darting through the air.
The Golden Snitch.
In the earliest days of Quidditch, the game had not used the Snitch at all. Instead, players hunted a small bird known as the Golden Snidget.
But because catching the Snidget became extremely popular, the bird's population declined rapidly and it was eventually declared endangered.
A skilled metalworker named Bowman Wright later invented the Golden Snitch as a replacement.
The Snitch matched the Snidget in weight and possessed rotating wings designed to mimic a bird's movement, allowing it to change direction with lightning speed and uncanny precision.
There was even a rumor that during a match on Bodmin Moor in 1884, one Snitch flew for six months without being caught.
Eventually both teams abandoned the game in frustration, and some Cornish wizards still claim the Snitch is still flying somewhere over the moor.
But for Lucian, the Snitch was not particularly difficult to locate.
The sky above was clear and cloudless. That rapidly moving magical source stood out sharply to his eyes.
"This magical structure..." Lucian narrowed his eyes slightly.
The magical pattern within the Snitch resembled a kinetoplast-like structure.
This mesh-like topology possessed extremely high fault tolerance during replication and repair.
Even if a portion broke, the overall framework remained intact and adapted to pressure from the surrounding environment.
That gave the Snitch its incredible material strength, its lightning speed, and its flawless directional changes.
An idea sparked suddenly in Lucian's mind.
What if this diamond-shaped magical structure could be extracted and engraved onto the wings of his Obscurus form?
According to the theory of magical resonance, the natural talents of magical creatures, the spells of wizards, and the power circulation of alchemical artifacts all shared the same underlying logic.
Even a single feather modified with this magical pattern could dramatically enhance flight speed and braking control.
It was an extremely promising line of research.
But while Lucian was absorbed in his alchemical speculation, the situation on the field suddenly changed.
Snape began interfering with the match openly.
He deducted points from Gryffindor for absurd reasons and ignored several obvious Slytherin fouls.
The crowd erupted in anger.
Not far away in the stands, Ron and Draco had started a fistfight over a single insult. They traded punches with real force.
Beside them, Hermione sat quietly.
She did not react at all.
Then, at the peak of the chaos—
Harry suddenly forced his broom downward.
He dove sharply toward the ground, pulling up only inches above the grass. At the same moment, he stretched out his right hand.
The streak of golden light vanished into his fist.
For a moment the shouting and insults across the stadium stopped.
Then the red wave swallowed the green.
"Gryffindor wins!"
Lee's voice nearly broke as he shouted through the magically amplified commentary.
"One hundred and fifty points! Potter caught the Snitch! We won right under Professor Snape's nose!"
Even though the commentary was clearly biased, Professor McGonagall did not interrupt.
In the stands, the students who had been fighting moments earlier stopped.
Ron shoved Draco away and began waving his arms wildly despite the bruise forming on his lip.
Lucian remained in the shadows, watching the scene.
"So despite the detours, the destination was still reached."
Even though his interference had pushed Gryffindor into negative points and strained the trio's relationship, the world's will had still delivered the hero's moment to the savior.
Not through manipulation this time.
Through overwhelming luck.
At that moment, Lucian's gaze drifted toward the edge of the field.
Someone was quietly leaving.
Rubeus Hagrid.
Normally, as one of Gryffindor's most loyal supporters, Hagrid should have been rushing onto the field with tears of joy to hug Harry after such a victory.
But now he moved cautiously.
He wore his massive moleskin coat, something bulky hidden under it.
Without even stopping to greet Harry, he hurried away toward his hut near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Lucian caught the faint magical signature immediately... A hot, ancient, violent pulse of life.
Something close to hatching.
A Norwegian Ridgeback.
__________
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