High above the Quidditch pitch, Harry was being dragged wildly through the air by his broomstick.
Just as the Weasley Twins prepared to rush over and rescue him, Harry's broom suddenly shot straight up toward the sky.
The fierce, cold wind made it impossible for him to open his eyes, and just as his fingers were about to slip from the handle and send him plummeting...
The broom stopped!
It hovered steadily in midair, and for a moment, Harry couldn't react.
He clutched the handle tightly, terrified that the next second the broom would dive and crash straight into the ground.
But what he feared didn't happen. The broom stayed still.
Tentatively trying to steer it, Harry realized with surprise that he could control it again.
The wild, uncontrollable sensation from before had vanished, and his coordination with the broom returned to normal.
Pushing the earlier scare aside, Harry quickly refocused on the match.
Whether it was because he was so high up, or simply because his broom had stopped in just the right place, he caught sight of a faint golden glimmer darting beneath one of the grandstands.
"An opportunity!"
Harry whispered excitedly, diving straight toward the Golden Snitch—right above the teachers' stand.
Snape, who had been focusing all his attention on maintaining a counter-curse, suddenly frowned. He felt… a sudden sense of relief.
Moments ago, he had needed to pour all his strength into resisting the dark curse affecting Harry's broom, unable to relax or even blink.
He had been watching Harry closely, his wand never wavering.
But just now, that sinister force seemed to have vanished completely.
And his counter-curse—was no longer needed.
Who helped Harry?
Dumbledore?
No, surely the Headmaster wouldn't simply stand by and let Harry get hurt…
Then who was behind this attack?
Snape's expression darkened. He suddenly turned his head toward Quirrell, who stood a little behind him to the side.
His already cold, deep gaze grew even frostier as it fixed on Quirrell's face.
But all Snape saw was a nervous-looking man with furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips—showing no sign of casting any spell at all.
Even after noticing Snape's gaze, Quirrell met his eyes and spoke first.
"Ha—Harry, that boy suddenly—what's going on? Is… is his broom malfunctioning?"
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't believe a word of it. Every instinct told him the man before him was the real culprit.
But with so many people around, he couldn't confront Quirrell directly.
Damn it…
With a rush of wind, Harry shot past on his broom, diving straight toward the area beneath one of the grandstands.
As he drew closer, he realized it was the Ravenclaw stand.
Through the blur of the crowd, Harry spotted Lucien standing among them, waving at him. His mouth moved as if he were shouting words of encouragement.
Harry couldn't hear him, but he could still feel the support.
He gave Lucien a quick nod, leaned forward, and continued his dive after the Golden Snitch darting beneath the stand.
Once Harry had flown past, Lucien's gaze stayed fixed on Quirrell—or more precisely, on the magic circuit belonging to Tom within him.
When Voldemort cast the Dark curse, the flow of magic wasn't overly complex.
It seemed the Dark Lord's remaining power was limited; he couldn't wield stronger magic in this state.
That made it much easier to replicate.
Hmm, it was probably also related to Lucien's own talent for the Dark Arts—he learned such things quickly.
Another reason was the Eye of Peering Magic.
Since it allowed him to observe the magic circuits within a wizard's body, he could clearly see how an opponent's magic operated during spellcasting.
By simply imitating the flow of that magic, one could reproduce the same effect.
It was truly an excellent method for secretly learning spells.
Moreover, it would be extremely useful for reading and countering an opponent's moves.
Incantations and wand movements could be faked to deceive enemies, but the flow of magic within the body could rarely be disguised.
"Lucien! Lucien! We have to help Harry!"
A hurried voice suddenly broke through Lucien's thoughts.
Turning around, he saw Ron standing beside him, panting heavily, his flushed cheeks slick with sweat.
It was obvious he had sprinted all the way.
Ron took a few deep breaths, then, after steadying himself, began to explain what had happened to Harry—hoping Lucien would know how to help.
"We just saw—Snape—"
But before Ron could finish, a booming voice echoed across the entire stadium.
"Merlin's beard! Harry has caught the Golden Snitch!"
"Gryffindor wins—one hundred seventy to sixty!"
"A huge victory!"
"This is unbelievable! Harry Potter is truly Gryffindor's lucky star!"
…
This time, Professor McGonagall didn't stop Lee Jordan's excited outburst.
Because even the stern Transfiguration professor herself was on her feet, waving and cheering—she was, after all, a devoted Quidditch fan.
Nothing could please her more than seeing her House win.
Especially since Harry had joined the team on her recommendation~!
Meanwhile, beneath the teachers' stand, Hermione quickly waved her wand several times, extinguishing the flames at its tip.
Just moments ago, she had been about to set Snape's robes on fire!
Jordan's excited shouting had stopped her just in time.
Hermione let out a quiet sigh of relief, and while the crowd buzzed with chatter, she quietly slipped away.
As she walked, she couldn't help but think about what had just happened—Harry had caught the Golden Snitch in such a short time.
That had to mean he'd broken free from the curse's influence.
"But I didn't even act to stop it… Did Ron find Lucien faster? Was it them…"
When Hermione exited the Quidditch pitch, she found Lucien and the others already waiting outside—with Harry among them.
Seeing him safe and sound, she finally relaxed.
"Harry, are you alright?"
At Hermione's question, Harry scratched his head and said a little uncertainly,
"Uh, I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. It's just… the broom suddenly went weird—out of control, like it was trying to throw me off—but then…"
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.
"It suddenly went back to normal, like nothing had happened."
In a quiet corner, Quirrell suddenly staggered and leaned against the wall.
"Master, this time we—"
"Failed."
Lord Voldemort's voice echoed in Quirrell's mind—calm, without a trace of anger or disappointment.
But Quirrell dared not relax and quickly said in a trembling voice,
"It must have been that meddlesome Severus helping Harry again! Always interfering with your plans, just like with the Troll last time—"
"At first, he was indeed resisting," Voldemort interrupted, "but the power that appeared later didn't seem to come from him."
There was a brief pause before the cold voice continued,
"It might have been Dumbledore who intervened. Hmph… that old man."
"This matter is settled. Prepare yourself.. it's time to head to the Forbidden Forest."
"Yes, Master," Quirrell replied at once, bowing his head. "I'll make the preparations and bring you the Unicorn's blood."
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