For the next few days, Professor Quirrell's reputation changed completely.
No stutter.
No shaking hands.
Clear explanations.
Proper demonstrations.
Students whispered that he had finally found his courage.
Some even said he was becoming one of the better Defense Against the Dark Arts professors Hogwarts had seen in years.
Only a handful knew better.
The Day of the Match
Slytherin vs Gryffindor
The Quidditch stadium was packed.
Green and silver on one side.
Red and gold on the other.
Lucien sat calmly among the Hufflepuffs, Alolan Vulpix curled beside him, eyes half-lidded as if bored.
Akeno watched the field.
Susan cheered politely.
Tonks was already yelling nonsense insults at Slytherin.
High above the pitch, Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in a century, flew nervously—searching.
Then it happened.
Harry's broom jerked violently.
Up.
Down.
Sideways.
Out of control.
The stadium gasped.
Lucien's eyes narrowed—not in panic, but irritation.
From his seat, he saw it clearly:
Snape, lips moving, quietly chanting a counter-curse. Quirrell, hands hidden, eyes fixed—too fixed.
So you chose today, Lucien thought coolly.
How predictable, Noseless.
Lucien didn't move.
Didn't raise a wand.
Instead—
Telepathy.
Giratina.
From the pocket dimension, the ancient presence stirred.
Yes, Master.
Two Bludgers.
Full force.
Front and back of Quirrell's head.
No witnesses.
As you command.
Impact
No one noticed the shift.
Two Bludgers—previously flying wide—changed course.
The first slammed straight into Professor Quirrell's face, sending him flying backward off his seat.
Gasps turned into screams.
Before anyone could react—
The second Bludger struck the back of his head, hard enough to echo through the stands.
Quirrell crashed to the ground.
Students rushed toward him.
"He's dead!"
"What is his head made of?!"
"CALL MADAM POMFREY!"
And then—
Quirrell stood up.
Slowly.
Not a drop of blood.
Not a crack.
Not even dizziness.
He brushed off his robes and, without a word, walked away toward the castle.
The stadium erupted in shocked laughter and disbelief.
"IS HIS SKULL MADE OF STEEL?!"
"HE GOT HIT TWICE!"
"TWICE!"
In the Sky
The moment Quirrell fell—
Harry's broom stabilized.
Control returned.
Harry blinked, steadied himself… and flew.
Minutes later—
"I SEE IT!"
The Golden Snitch flashed.
Harry dived.
Caught it.
GRYFFINDOR WINS.
The stadium exploded.
Harry Potter became a hero.
Silent Understanding
As cheers thundered, Lucien leaned back, satisfied.
Across the stands, Severus Snape looked up.
Their eyes met.
Lucien smiled faintly and gave a small nod.
Thank you—for protecting my brother.
Snape's lips twitched.
He nodded back.
He knew.
He knew someone else had intervened—and he knew exactly who.
But Snape said nothing.
Not to Dumbledore.
Not to McGonagall.
Not to anyone.
Some secrets were worth keeping.
Aftermath
By nightfall, Hogwarts buzzed with rumors:
Harry Potter's legendary first match Professor Quirrell's indestructible head Slytherin's loss Gryffindor's victory
And Lucien Aurelius Peverell Lionhardt?
He returned to his dorms, calm as ever.
Another threat removed.
Another piece moved on the board.
Without anyone realizing—
The war had already begun.