While the uproar from the flying lesson had yet to settle, and Oliver Wood's impassioned shouting still echoed across the lawn, two figures of the highest authority at Hogwarts arrived together.
Albus Dumbledore.
The greatest white wizard of the age.
His star-spangled robes shimmered softly in the sunlight, his long silver beard nearly reaching his waist. His steps were calm as ever—but in his blue eyes, usually twinkling with gentle amusement, there now lay unmistakable gravity… and anticipation.
Beside him walked Severus Snape, returned once more.
Though clad in a fresh black robe, the shock from earlier still lingered on his pale face. His stride was faster than usual—subtly betraying his inner unrest.
They had come because of the Potions incident.
Dumbledore had decided he must personally meet the student Snape had described as a "monster."
A genius capable of overturning century-old potion theory could not be ignored.
Yet fate seemed determined to overwhelm them further.
Before they could even fully see the training field, the thunderous cheers—and Wood's nearly hysterical declaration—
"Invite Lucian!"
"Future Seeker!"
—made both men pause.
Snape frowned deeply. He could not reconcile those words with the calm, analytical boy he had watched before a cauldron.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.
Then they stepped around the final obstruction—
And saw.
Under the bright afternoon sun, above the Hogwarts lawn—
A black-haired boy hovered in midair.
No broom.
No magical device.
No wand in hand.
The wind curled obediently around him, as though serving its master.
And in his hand, he casually held a violently struggling Golden Snitch, treating it as though it were a simple glass marble.
Time seemed to freeze.
In Dumbledore's wise, fathomless blue eyes appeared a single, unmistakable emotion:
Shock.
Theoretical genius was one thing.
This—
This was something else entirely.
Dumbledore recognized it instantly.
It was not any known flight magic.
It was a new system.
Self-contained. Harmonious. Elegant.
Closer to the essence of magic itself than any recorded flight charm.
Beside him, Snape had gone rigid.
Potion reformulation alone had already been miraculous enough.
But this?
This suggested that Potions might be merely a minor branch of the boy's staggering talent.
He had created wandless.
Broomless.
Flight.
And judging by how effortlessly he had caught the Snitch, the spell was not experimental.
It was perfected.
"Albus…" Snape's voice was hoarse. "I… retract my earlier statement."
"Which one?" Dumbledore asked absently, still watching Lucian descend slowly to the grass.
Snape swallowed.
"He is beyond the word 'genius.'"
Indeed.
What genius rewrites two magical disciplines on the first day of school?
What genius leaves both Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore speechless within a single afternoon?
This defied classification.
Dumbledore slowly regained his composure.
The shock faded from his gaze—replaced by something brighter.
Hope.
He saw it clearly.
After centuries of relative stagnation, magic itself might be on the verge of renewal.
A new star rising.
A mind capable of reshaping an era.
Suppressing his excitement, Dumbledore stepped forward from the edge of the field.
At once, the noise diminished.
Students straightened instinctively. Madam Hooch and Oliver Wood both fell silent.
Dumbledore's gaze moved past them all and rested upon Lucian Thornwick, who had just landed lightly on the grass, Golden Snitch still in hand.
Then, in a clear and resonant voice, warm with admiration, Dumbledore addressed the gathered students:
"To recognize Mr. Lucian Thornwick's unparalleled creativity and extraordinary talent in both Potions and the art of flight…"
He paused deliberately.
Every heart seemed to stop.
"I hereby award Gryffindor House…"
"Fifty points."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Fifty?
Ordinarily, exceptional classroom performance earned five—perhaps ten—points.
But fifty points at once?
For a single student?
For a single afternoon?
It was unprecedented.
A collective gasp rippled outward.
Then—
Gryffindor erupted.
"FIFTY POINTS?!"
"LUCIAN! LUCIAN!"
Oliver Wood led the charge, red-faced and shouting as if they had already won the House Cup.
Students embraced, jumped, laughed.
The earlier doubts, the jealousy, the disbelief—
All dissolved.
What remained was pride.
Raw, blazing pride.
Harry stood amidst the celebration, watching.
Watching Lucian.
Watching Dumbledore.
Watching the field transformed by a single person's brilliance.
The confusion in his chest shifted slightly.
Yes.
Perhaps being in the same House as someone like that…
Wasn't such a bad thing.
Hermione Granger gazed at Lucian with shining eyes, admiration written plainly across her face.
And above it all, Lucian Thornwick stood calmly, the Golden Snitch resting quietly in his palm—
As if none of this astonishment had ever been extraordinary at all.