After the Quidditch match, the castle was still buzzing.
Cheers echoed through the corridors, banners fluttered, and students replayed the match again and again with wildly exaggerated gestures.
After the Match
Lucien walked into the Gryffindor section of the stands like he owned the place—calm, relaxed, hands in his pockets.
Harry spotted him immediately.
Lucien stopped in front of his twin and gave him a small smile.
"Good catch."
Harry nodded back, grinning.
"Thanks."
No dramatic hugs.
No loud praise.
Just a quiet, mutual understanding between brothers.
Lucien then turned to two familiar red-and-gold figures.
Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell.
"You two were good back there," Lucien said casually. "Clean flying. Solid passes."
Both girls instantly puffed their chests out, grinning like they'd just won another match.
"Of course we were," Angelina said proudly.
"Told you we'd do great," Katie added.
Behind them, Clara Bell, Katie's twin, crossed her arms slightly—clearly jealous that her sister got praised first.
Lucien noticed immediately.
He turned to her.
"You did well too, Clara. Looking after your sister like that takes skill."
Clara froze.
Then her face turned red.
"Oh—um—th-thanks…" she muttered, suddenly very interested in the floor.
Katie smirked.
Angelina laughed.
Lucien moved on like nothing happened.
In Quirrell's Office
Professor Quirrell slammed the door shut behind him.
His hands trembled as he grabbed a vial of pain-killer potion and drank it in one gulp.
"CURSED BLUDGERS," he hissed.
From the back of his head, Voldemort's voice slithered out, sharp with rage.
"Give me some."
Quirrell froze.
"M-My Lord?"
"NOW."
Quirrell shakily poured another vial and tipped it back so Voldemort could drink.
"Someone interfered," Voldemort snarled.
"Bludgers do not move like that."
Quirrell swallowed nervously.
"I—I swear, Master, I didn't fail you!"
Voldemort didn't answer immediately.
That silence was worse than screaming.
Dumbledore's Investigation
That evening, Albus Dumbledore stood alone in the empty stadium.
He examined the Bludgers.
Checked enchantments.
Reviewed the flight patterns.
Nothing.
No spell residue.
No curse marks.
No trace of wand interference.
Perfectly normal Bludgers.
Dumbledore sighed softly.
"Someone protected Harry," he murmured.
But who?
Snape was too obvious.
McGonagall would never act so recklessly.
The students… unlikely.
His eyes drifted briefly toward the Hufflepuff common room far below.
And then he chuckled.
"Interesting," he said quietly.
Voldemort Tests Loyalty
Back in the shadows of Quirrell's office, Voldemort's voice returned—cold and calculating.
"You will prove your loyalty, Quirrell."
"Yes, Master!"
"You will bring me the Philosopher's Stone.
And you will watch the boy—Lucien Lionhardt."
Quirrell stiffened.
"Th-The Hufflepuff?"
"Yes," Voldemort hissed.
"He smiles too easily."
Quirrell nodded quickly.
"I'll watch him closely, Master."
Voldemort fell silent.
But his thoughts were anything but calm.
Elsewhere…
Lucien lay back in his dorm, Alolan Vulpix curled on his chest, staring at the ceiling.
Everything was moving exactly as expected.
Harry was safe.
Quirrell was rattled.
Voldemort was suspicious.
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Good," he murmured.
"Let the game continue."