The Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts was almost boiling with excitement.
The stands roared with noise. Red and green banners waved wildly, turning the stadium into a chaotic sea of color.
Lucian sat in the Ravenclaw stands, looking down at the spectacle below with cold detachment.
In his vision, the sky above the field was filled with golden threads.
They wove together into a massive web, all of it focused on the thin figure riding a Nimbus Two Thousand.
The script had already been written. The debut of the Chosen One had to include danger, suspense, and finally a glorious triumph.
"So this is the privilege of being the protagonist."
Lucian calmly sipped his red tea.
"To highlight the hero's courage, the story requires a near-death performance."
Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
Fourteen broomsticks shot into the air.
The match began smoothly. Lee Jordan's commentary rang across the field with infectious excitement.
Harry Potter displayed astonishing natural talent in the air, darting between the Chasers like a swift swallow.
Then the accident happened.
Harry's broom suddenly jerked violently. A moment later it began spinning wildly.
It was trying to throw him off.
Screams erupted from the crowd.
Lucian's gaze cut through the chaos of the stadium.
There, Snape stared intensely at Harry while his lips moved rapidly. He was casting a counter-curse.
Not far from him sat Professor Quirrell, hunched inside his turban.
Beneath the purple cloth, a dark red malice flowed continuously, forming an invisible grip that clutched Harry's broom handle.
It was a silent tug-of-war.
On one side was Snape, desperately trying to protect the Chosen One.
On the other was Voldemort, testing the limits of Dumbledore's tolerance.
The will of the world seemed to rejoice. It adjusted the magical environment around them, suppressing Snape's power while amplifying Quirrell's curse, ensuring the scene would be dramatic enough.
"A boring performance."
Lucian placed his cup down.
"Since I already have access to the control panel, why not make this one-man show a little more interesting?"
His consciousness sank inward, touching the gray vortex of power within him.
Through the anchor he had captured and altered, a silent command flowed along the golden thread he had corrupted, traveling directly into the chaotic depths of Quirrell's soul.
On the teachers' platform, Quirrell was fully focused on maintaining the curse.
Suddenly, the master attached to the back of his head felt as though someone had stabbed him with a needle.
The pain exploded deep within the soul without warning.
"Ugh—!"
Quirrell let out a short, shrill cry, though the noise was drowned by the roaring crowd.
His spell collapsed instantly.
Worse still, the large amount of magic that had been guiding the broom suddenly lost direction and rebounded violently.
Quirrell jerked backward, his body convulsing like someone suffering a seizure before he collapsed onto Hagrid's broad back.
In the air, Harry's broom stopped spinning.
It steadied itself.
Harry quickly scrambled back onto it, looking completely confused.
This was the pleasure of controlling variables. No wand needed to be waved, no spell shouted aloud. A small adjustment at the right moment was enough.
But in the next second, the sky darkened.
The wind, which had only been cold before, suddenly became violent. Flags snapped loudly in the stands, and several banners tore apart.
A vast, offended will descended over the Quidditch pitch.
The script had been disrupted.
The villain had failed his role. The crisis was no longer dramatic enough. The hero's shining moment would lose its impact.
So the will of the world intervened directly.
A Bludger that had been chasing a Gryffindor Chaser suddenly changed direction.
It cut through the air at a sharp right angle, something no Beater could have achieved.
The black iron ball accelerated with unnatural force, abandoning its original target and flying straight toward Harry Potter.
Its speed was almost impossible to see.
If the broom couldn't kill him, then breaking his bones would do. Suffering had to happen before victory could feel meaningful.
"Oh? So you intend to take the stage yourself."
If Harry were killed here, the entire Chosen One storyline would collapse into a funeral. That level of chaos was something Lucian could not yet afford.
He had to act, but without revealing himself.
The Bludger was less than ten feet away.
Harry stared at it in horror, unable to dodge.
°Aresto Momentum°
Lucian applied only the slightest sideways force to the iron ball, altering its trajectory by a fraction.
In the critical instant, the Bludger passed just beside Harry's ear. The wind it generated stung his face, cutting several strands of his hair.
At the same moment Harry opened his mouth in shock.
A golden object, caught in the wake of the Bludger, was pushed forward as if by an invisible hand and shoved straight into his mouth.
Harry choked immediately.
He coughed violently, lost control of his broom, and tumbled awkwardly onto the sandy ground below. Clutching his throat, he spat out the golden object in front of the stunned crowd.
The Golden Snitch.
For a brief second the entire stadium froze.
Then the cheers exploded like thunder.
"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
On the teachers' platform, Hermione Granger moved quietly through the crowd with her wand raised.
She had originally intended to set Snape's robes on fire. Through her binoculars she had clearly seen him muttering spells.
But when she finally pushed her way close enough, she witnessed something confusing.
Snape lowered his wand, his pale face showing clear relief as he watched Harry land safely.
Meanwhile Professor Quirrell, who always stuttered nervously, was slumped in his seat with blood on his face, pressing a handkerchief against his nose.
Hermione's wand froze in midair.
If Snape was the villain, why did he look relieved when Harry survived?
If Quirrell was innocent, why did his expression look so strange?
And that Bludger earlier… was it really an accident? Hermione slowly lowered her wand and carefully memorized the scene.
Up in the Ravenclaw stands, Lucian watched Harry being lifted into the air by his teammates.
The oppressive presence of the world's will still lingered faintly in the air.
It circled the stadium, searching for the source that had interfered with the Bludger.
But Lucian had acted too quickly and too subtly, and the chaotic magical fluctuations of the match concealed his trace.
Still, he knew he had drawn attention.
"This time it was a Bludger. What will it be next time?"
Lucian stood and did not join the celebration. This single match had confirmed two things for him.
First, the Horcrux truly functioned as a control handle.
Second, the will of this world was like a precise but temperamental machine. If someone disrupted its predetermined path, it would force the result through the most brutal means possible.
"We won, but the danger has increased."
Lucian turned and walked toward the exit, his figure strangely detached from the cheering crowd.
"But that also means the play is finally becoming interesting."
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