High above the Quidditch pitch, Harry was at the mercy of his broom, which jerked and spun wildly.
The Weasley twins zoomed toward him, ready to pull him to safety, but the broom suddenly shot skyward.
Blinded by the biting wind, Harry clung to the handle, certain he'd be thrown off any second.
Then, abruptly, the broom stopped.
It hovered steadily in midair, leaving Harry dazed, gripping the handle tightly, braced for a sudden dive.
But nothing happened. He stayed put.
Tentatively, Harry tested the broom and was thrilled to find it responding perfectly again.
The wild, bucking-bronco sensation was gone, and he and the broom were back in sync.
Pushing the strange incident aside, Harry refocused on the match.
Maybe it was his high vantage point or the broom's fortunate pause, but he spotted a tiny golden glimmer darting beneath a stand.
"Chance!" Harry whispered excitedly, diving toward the Golden Snitch.
---
On the staff stand, Snape, who had been straining to cast a counter-curse, furrowed his brow. Something felt… off.
Moments ago, he'd been pouring all his focus and magic into countering the curse on Harry's broom, unable to spare a thought for anything else.
He'd kept his eyes locked on Harry, not daring to relax.
But just now, the force tampering with the broom seemed to vanish.
His counter-curse suddenly felt unnecessary.
Who helped Harry?
Dumbledore?
He wouldn't just stand by and let Harry come to harm…
As for who was trying to hurt Harry?
Snape whipped his head around, glaring at Quirrell behind him.
His already cold, piercing eyes turned even darker, boring into Quirrell's face.
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But Quirrell looked genuinely worried, lips pressed tight, showing no sign of casting a spell.
When he noticed Snape's stare, Quirrell met his gaze and stammered, "H-Harry, that boy… what happened? Is his b-broom malfunctioning?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. He didn't buy Quirrell's act for a second. His gut screamed that this man was the culprit.
But he couldn't confront Quirrell in front of everyone.
Damn it…
---
Harry's broom streaked downward, aiming for the Ravenclaw stands.
As he neared, he spotted Lucien in the crowd, waving and mouthing something like "Go for it!"
Harry couldn't hear him but felt a surge of support from his friend.
Nodding slightly at Lucien, Harry leaned forward, chasing the darting Snitch beneath the stands.
After Harry passed, Lucien kept his eyes on Quirrell—or rather, on the magical signature within him, belonging to Tom.
The dark magic curse wasn't too complex in its magical flow.
Likely due to Voldemort's weakened state, he couldn't wield more powerful spells.
Mimicking it was surprisingly easy.
Probably tied to Lucien's knack for dark magic, which he picked up quickly.
Another reason was the Eye of Insight.
By observing a wizard's magical signature, Lucien could see exactly how their magic flowed during a spell.
Mimicking that flow let him replicate the spell's effect.
A handy trick for "borrowing" others' magic.
It was also useful for catching someone in the act.
Incantations and wand movements could be faked to mislead enemies.
But the flow of magic within a wizard? That was harder to disguise.
"Lucien, Lucien, we've got to help Harry!"
A frantic voice snapped Lucien out of his thoughts.
He turned to see Ron, panting heavily, face flushed and sweaty from sprinting.
Ron took a few deep breaths, steadying himself to explain and ask for help with Harry. "We just saw Snape—"
But before he could finish, a booming voice echoed across the pitch.
"Merlin's beard! Harry's caught the Golden Snitch!"
"Gryffindor wins, one hundred seventy to sixty!"
"An absolute triumph!"
"It's a miracle—Harry Potter is Gryffindor's lucky star!"
Professor McGonagall didn't hush Lee Jordan's wild commentary this time.
The cat-loving professor was too busy cheering, waving her arms. A die-hard Quidditch fan, nothing thrilled her more than seeing her house team win—especially since she'd scouted Harry herself.
---
Beneath the staff stand, Hermione quickly waved her wand, extinguishing the flame at its tip.
She'd been moments away from setting Snape's robes ablaze!
Jordan's cheers had stopped her just in time.
Hermione let out a relieved breath, slipping away quietly as the crowd buzzed with excitement.
As she walked, she thought, Harry caught the Snitch so quickly—he must've broken free of the curse.
But I didn't do anything yet. Did Ron get to Lucien faster, and they…
Outside the pitch, Hermione found Lucien, Ron, and Harry waiting for her.
Seeing Harry unharmed, she relaxed.
"Harry, you okay?" she asked.
Scratching his head, Harry hesitated. "Yeah, I'm not hurt."
"But the broom—it was so weird. It went out of control, like it was trying to throw me off. Then…"
His tone grew more puzzled. "It just stopped. Went completely normal, no sign of trouble."
---
In a shadowed corner, Quirrell swayed, leaning against a wall.
"Master, this time we…"
"Failed," Voldemort's voice echoed in Quirrell's mind, calm and devoid of anger.
Quirrell, cautious, said, "It must've been Severus, that meddler, helping Harry. He's always thwarting your plans—like with the troll…"
"At first, yes, it was him resisting," Voldemort replied, pausing. "But that later force… it wasn't his style."
"Likely Dumbledore," he continued with a scoff. "That old fool."
"It's done. Prepare yourself. It's time to visit the Forbidden Forest."
Quirrell nodded quickly. "Yes, Master. I'll ready everything and get the unicorn blood for you."