"Help—uh—"
There was a ripping sound.
Accompanied by the tearing of clothes, Neville's scream rapidly descended.
Lucien immediately drew his wand, and in an instant, a silent Hover Charm shot out, catching Neville in mid-air.
Neville's chubby body briefly hovered, then slowly and evenly descended to the ground.
Walking closer to the window, Lucien saw Neville on all fours, then slowly getting up and brushing off his robes.
Lucien let out a soft sigh.
Good thing he had reacted quickly enough to save him in time.
Indeed, in tense moments, basic spells that can be cast silently and instantly are often the most effective.
When every second counts, being a step faster makes all the difference.
Before long, Madam Hooch, the Flying Class instructor, rushed over to Neville.
Neville was trembling all over, his face pale, still shaken with lingering fear.
Although he insisted he wasn't in pain anywhere and probably hadn't been injured in the fall, Madam Hooch was still worried and took him to the infirmary.
Before leaving, she also instructed the students to stop practicing and wait for her return.
Lucien watched the entire scene unfold from upstairs in the library.
Although Madam Hooch hadn't managed to save Neville with magic in time, which didn't quite meet a teacher's standard, she still seemed very concerned about her students, choosing to personally take him to the infirmary.
Hmm, so the plot will probably still unfold the same way.
Harry and Malfoy will ride their brooms to snatch the Remembrall Neville dropped, then Professor McGonagall will discover Harry's flying talent, blah blah blah…
Well, nothing for me to do—back to studying.
Lucien sat back down, picked up his book, and continued reading.
During the brief chaos just now, normally no one would have noticed Lucien using magic, as it was a quick, discreet silent spell.
But there were exceptions—such as a certain blonde girl who had been constantly watching Lucien.
She saw Lucien draw his wand, saw him utter no incantation, and also saw the little fat boy outside the window briefly suspended in the air.
Daphne's small mouth was slightly agape, her eyes a little unfocused, and she murmured to herself: "A silent spell? Was that a silent spell just now? Lucien didn't seem to say the incantation, did he?"
"Didn't Mum say that silent spells are advanced techniques, only taught in the sixth year at Hogwarts? Isn't Lucien in the same year as me?"
"…"
After a moment of self-talk, Daphne finally came back to her senses, though her heart was still pounding.
She looked at Lucien again; the dissatisfaction and frustration she had felt from being ignored had vanished, replaced by disbelief and deep solemnity.
Born into the Greengrass family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—a pure-blood family currently in its prime—Daphne had been exposed to magic since childhood, and her understanding of it far surpassed that of her peers.
But she had never heard of anyone being able to use a silent spell at this age!
That required not only exquisite magical control but, more importantly, a total amount of magic far beyond what a young wizard at this stage could possess.
"Lucien, he's the same age as me… how can he have such immense magic?"
"Pure-blood? No, Grafton… I haven't heard of that pure-blood family. Is it some reclusive family? But families like that are rare these days, aren't they?"
"Lucien is indeed extraordinary. Unlike those who only flatter me, he's worthy of being my friend!"
Daphne's eyes lit up, and she was about to get up and talk to Lucien.
Suddenly, a sharp, angry voice rang out behind her: "Young lady, the library is for reading and studying! It's not for talking to yourself. Please leave!"
Hearing Madam Pince's reprimand, Daphne's face flushed and then paled.
She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had forgotten the librarian's strictness.
"I…"
However, Madam Pince had already raised the feather duster in her hand.
Daphne took off running, not daring to argue at all.
In the library, Madam Pince didn't care if you were Muggleborn, half-blood, or even from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; she would never allow anyone to defile precious books or disrupt the library's study atmosphere.
Daphne didn't even dare to look in Lucien's direction; it was too embarrassing!
And just as she was fleeing the library, scolded by Madam Pince, Lucien finally glanced over.
But he only saw a retreating figure with light blonde hair, fleeing in a panic.
Tsk, tsk. Someone else got kicked out. It really was a good thing to have Madam Pince maintaining the library's study environment.
However, that figure seemed a bit familiar…?
Just as Lucien was recalling—
Bang!
A sound like someone falling from the sky to the ground rang out.
Immediately after came painful wails and the chattering voices of children.
Lucien put down his book and looked out the window.
No, why are they arguing? Didn't I just save Neville?
Sigh, perhaps it's not a good day to read in the library. I forgot to check the calendar.
Lucien picked up his book, preparing to leave the library.
He didn't plan to join the commotion on the sports field; his studies were more important.
Besides, when Harry or Ron had time, they would surely come to him to talk about what had just happened.
After all, Gryffindor wouldn't miss an opportunity to boast about winning against Slytherin—even if it was just two first-years competing on brooms.
…
A few minutes ago.
Flying Class field.
"Give me the Remembrall, Malfoy!"
"No, I'm going to hide it and make Longbottom look for it."
Saying this, Malfoy mounted his broom and flew away.
Harry naturally didn't want to be outdone and chased after him.
The two chased each other for a while before finally stopping in mid-air.
"Want this, Potter?"
Malfoy tossed the Remembrall with a challenging look on his face.
Harry wanted to charge over, but he didn't want to be strung along and teased.
So he racked his brain for a solution, and suddenly, he seemed to think of something.
He slipped both hands into his robe pockets.
One hand pulled out his wand, the other a small tin can.
He twisted off the tin's lid, revealing a light blue solid and a wick.
It was the Sleeping Draught Lucien had taught him to make yesterday.
—"…It spreads quickly, can make a wizard fall asleep in five seconds, light it with a Scintilla Spargo…"—
He quickly recalled Lucien's instructions and warnings.
"Scintilla Spargo!"
After lighting the Sleeping Draught, Harry immediately held his breath, flicking his hand to throw the small tin can at Malfoy.
Remarkably, Malfoy also threw the Remembrall he was holding—but he hurled it far away.
"If you want it, go get it yourself!"
Harry flew straight after the Remembrall, while Malfoy, as if possessed, caught the object Harry had thrown.
"Heh heh, Potter, are you a child, still throwing thi—"
Malfoy didn't finish his mocking words. His eyes suddenly closed, he let go of his broom, and plunged straight down toward the ground.
Meanwhile, Harry, chasing the Remembrall at high speed, finally caught it in front of a window and pulled off a beautiful turn.
Still basking in his small victory, Harry didn't notice the older, stern woman watching him from the window.
"Ah—"
A painful, loud wail echoed from the sports field to where they were.
It reached both Harry and Professor McGonagall. The professor immediately turned serious.
Harry, on the other hand, went pale, realizing he might have caused serious trouble.