Just as he stepped through the gates of the Quidditch pitch, Lucien heard a booming voice call out:
"Lucien, you're here! Ah, excuse me, oh, pardon me—just a moment."
Hagrid, bundled in a mole-skin coat and wearing rabbit-fur gloves, waved his massive hands as he greeted Lucien and the others, carefully making his way through the crowd so as not to bump into the younger students.
Lucien found Hagrid's thoughtfulness endearing, though perhaps a bit unnecessary—because at the sight of his towering figure, everyone around had already instinctively stepped aside to give him space.
"Hey, today's Harry Potter's Quidditch debut! Really something to look forward to!" Hagrid said excitedly.
"We've never seen Harry train—Gryffindor's been keeping it a tight secret."
Hearing that, Ron immediately jumped in.
"Exactly! Fred and the others said Wood's treating Harry like a secret weapon, and he's been training super hard lately!"
Hagrid let out a hearty laugh.
"That's great then! I bet Harry's performance today will be brilliant!"
"…The Quaffle is snatched by Angelina Johnson! This Gryffindor girl's chasing technique is as stunning as her looks—"
"Jordan!"
At Professor McGonagall's sharp reprimand, Lee Jordan, the commentator, quickly apologized and corrected himself.
Even so, his commentary remained hilariously biased.
Whenever Gryffindor scored, he would shout with enthusiasm, his voice full of excitement and pride.
But when Slytherin scored, he'd announce it in a flat, disappointed tone—often ending with a heavy sigh.
Heh, this commentator was certainly entertaining.
A completely neutral play-by-play could never match this level of fun.
Because of Jordan's lively narration, Lucien also began paying closer attention to the match.
There were quite a few female players on the Gryffindor team.
Angelina, for instance, as a Chaser, was performing exceptionally well.
But then—whoosh!
A Bludger shot past, barely grazing the head of another Gryffindor Chaser.
The Slytherin Beater who had hit the Bludger looked disappointed, as if regretting not aiming just a little better.
Lucien caught the expression on his face.
Hmm—there was no hint of pity for the fairer sex, only a fierce hunger for victory.
Tsk, tsk. Now that was true equality in sports.
No matter the gender or appearance, once you were on the field, everyone was treated the same.
The vortexes in Lucien's pupils widened slightly, allowing him to see the players' movements in sharper detail.
It was one of the side effects of the Eye of Peering Magic—
He could clearly observe distant targets as if they were right in front of him.
Honestly, the more he used these eyes, the more convenient they seemed.
Not only could they perceive magic circuits, but they could also function like a powerful telescope.
Shifting his gaze slightly, Lucien looked toward the Gryffindor stands.
A massive banner had been unfurled above Ron and his friends' heads.
It read "Potter Will Win," with a large drawing of a roaring lion beneath the words.
The banner was surrounded by bright, flashing magical effects that made it shimmer brilliantly in the air.
It was quite eye-catching—Harry would probably be overjoyed to see it.
To have such loyal friends who went to that much effort for him.
The cold wind howled across the pitch, but it couldn't dampen the crowd's enthusiasm or the players' determination.
The match had entered a fierce phase.
Quidditch rules were relatively simple, but the number of so-called "foul" tactics was endless.
Lucien recalled reading somewhere that there were more than seven hundred types of fouls in Quidditch—and they could all occur within a single match.
One could imagine just how brutal the game could get.
Hmm, the match with the highest number of fouls on record had even been an international competition.
Of course, deaths in Quidditch were rare; most injuries were minor—broken jaws, fractured limbs, concussions, and the like.
After all, with the help of magic and potions, such things weren't considered serious.
Lucien could understand why.
It was precisely because injuries were so easily treated that players dared to play so recklessly.
Anyway, since fatalities or permanent injuries were nearly impossible, the players simply went all out.
Players played with passion—and the audience came to see blood!
Back to the match itself—
Heh, it had reached the point where they were hitting players and only incidentally hitting the ball.
"Wow, these people are playing really rough," Terry muttered beside Lucien. "Quidditch really isn't for us. We should just stick to studying."
Hearing Terry's grumbling, Lucien couldn't help but smile.
No wonder Ravenclaw's Quidditch team was the weakest of the four houses.
They were lucky if they could even assemble a full team.
Ravenclaw had the smallest student body, and most of them preferred quiet study to reckless sports.
It was no surprise that Cho and her teammates had been trying to recruit new players ever since term began.
"Look! What's wrong with Harry Potter?!"
Someone shouted in alarm, and a few of the more timid students had already started to scream.
Harry, who had been carefully searching for the Golden Snitch, narrowly dodged a Bludger.
His broomstick suddenly began to shake violently.
Then it started performing wild, dangerous maneuvers—diving, ascending, spinning, and rolling uncontrollably. Harry clung desperately to the handle, struggling not to be thrown off.
Seeing Harry's abnormal and dangerous movements, Ron was instantly filled with dread.
"What should we do? We have to help Harry!"
Hermione looked just as anxious. She quickly grabbed Hagrid's binoculars and focused on Harry's erratic flight.
As she adjusted the lenses, her view shifted—until she spotted someone in the staff stands.
"Snape! His mouth—it's moving! He's casting a spell!"
Ron froze, stunned by her words.
"No way—why would Snape curse Harry? He hasn't even been that hard on him lately!"
Snatching the binoculars from Hermione, Ron looked through them and saw it for himself—Snape really was muttering a spell continuously.
"This—what should we do?"
Seeing that Ron had no plan either, Hermione clenched her teeth, grabbed his arm, and started pulling him toward the exit of the stands.
"I'll go stop Snape!" Hermione said firmly. "Ron, go find Lucien—he'll know what to do!"
Meanwhile, over in the Ravenclaw stands, Lucien had already turned his gaze toward the real culprit.
Professor Quirrell, wrapped in his trademark purple turban, was staring intently at Harry, his expression full of apparent concern—as if he deeply cared about the boy.
The black vortexes in Lucien's eyes began to whirl rapidly, almost completely engulfing the dark green beneath.
Ah, so this is what Tom's magic circuit looks like.
Normally, Lord Voldemort was hidden deep within Quirrell's body and soul, making his magic circuit impossible to detect.
That method of concealment was even more refined than an Animagus transformation.
But now…
Quirrell himself wasn't casting—the one using magic was Voldemort inside him, continuously releasing a dark curse aimed at killing Harry.
And once he began channeling magic, Voldemort's hidden magic circuit could no longer remain concealed.
Hmm… interesting.
Even though Tom existed only as a soul at this moment, the act of releasing magic still caused visible changes in Quirrell's internal magic circuit.
Could it be that magic circuits are more closely tied to the soul than to the physical body?
And the structure of this circuit—befitting the Dark Lord—was indeed extraordinary.
Lucien focused intently on observing it. Voldemort rarely used magic in this state, making this a rare opportunity for study.
Ah… when casting this Dark curse, the magic flows like this.
If I imitate that circulation and activate my own magic… could I reproduce the same effect?
The thought stirred something in him.
Lucien compared the paths of the magic flow and began to channel his own power accordingly.
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