The metallic thunder of the Bludgers' collision had barely faded—
—and Lucian Thornwick vanished.
Not Apparition.
Not illusion.
Speed.
Pure, unrestrained acceleration beyond the threshold of human sight.
A streak of emerald lightning tore across the sky.
Then another.
Then ten more.
Afterimages layered over one another until it seemed the pitch was filled with dozens of Lucians, each carving impossible vectors through the air.
Gasps rippled across the field.
"Hit him! Hit him!" Fred barked, shaking himself from shock.
George reacted instantly.
Crack! Crack!
The Bludgers launched again, fueled by pride and stubborn disbelief.
They howled through the air, hunting the green streak.
It didn't matter.
They couldn't lock on.
Every time a Bludger adjusted its path, Lucian was already elsewhere. The compressed currents from his Wind Spirit's Aegis minimized drag while subtly warping the airflow around him, turning pursuit into a futile chase against distorted vectors.
To the twins, it felt like trying to swat light.
Then Lucian did something worse.
Instead of avoiding a synchronized crossfire—
He dove directly into it.
Two Bludgers converged again from opposing angles.
The gap between them was scarcely wider than a hand.
The team below flinched.
Lucian accelerated.
A flash.
He slipped between them with millimeters to spare, the airflow bending just enough to prevent contact without visibly deflecting either sphere.
The Bludgers slammed together behind him.
Again.
Fred's bat lowered slowly.
"That's not flying…" he muttered hoarsely.
George swallowed. "That's something else."
On the ground, Oliver Wood trembled—not with fear, but awe.
With shaking fingers, he reached into his pocket and released the Golden Snitch.
The tiny golden sphere burst upward, wings vibrating into a blur as it zigzagged unpredictably across the stadium.
Ordinarily, its speed was breathtaking.
Today—
It looked slow.
Painfully slow.
Lucian did not give chase.
He simply appeared along its projected path.
The Snitch veered left—
Lucian materialized ahead of it.
It shot upward vertically—
Lucian was already above, hovering calmly.
It spiraled downward in a desperate corkscrew—
Lucian descended in perfect alignment, cutting off every escape vector before it fully formed.
There was no frantic pursuit.
No aggressive lunging.
Just inevitability.
Finally, as the Snitch darted past his shoulder in one last attempt at freedom—
Lucian extended his hand.
Snap.
He caught it.
Effortlessly.
The wings fluttered against his fingers in protest before going still.
The entire pitch fell into absolute silence.
High above the grass, Lucian floated at center field, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other loosely holding the captured Snitch.
The emerald glow around him faded like dissipating mist.
He did not look triumphant.
He looked… mildly satisfied.
As though the exercise had confirmed expected results.
Fred and George remained frozen mid-swing, mouths slightly open.
Their pride in speed.
Their mastery of reaction timing.
Their hard-earned Beater instincts.
None of it had mattered.
They hadn't just failed to hit him.
They hadn't even come close.
Fred exhaled first, a slow breath of surrender.
"Well," he said faintly.
George nodded, eyes still fixed on Lucian.
"Can't catch him."
A beat of silence.
"Can't even see him properly."
Below them, Wood's face split into a disbelieving grin.
This wasn't just talent.
It was domination of the sky itself.
Above the golden hoops, Lucian Thornwick hovered in quiet composure—
—and the Weasley twins finally understood a simple, humbling truth.
They weren't too slow.
They were simply trying to chase the wind.