"Hel—!"
A ripping sound cut through the air.
Neville's scream plummeted as his robes tore. Lucien whipped out his wand, firing a silent Levitation Charm that hit Neville mid-air. His chubby frame hovered briefly before descending steadily to the ground.
Lucien approached the window, watching as Neville landed on all fours, then slowly stood, brushing off his robes. Lucien let out a relieved breath. Good thing I reacted fast enough to save him. In tense moments like that, a quick, silent basic charm could make all the difference. Every second counted.
Soon, Madam Hooch, the Flying Instructor, rushed to Neville's side. He was trembling, pale, still shaken, but he insisted he wasn't hurt. Not taking any chances, Madam Hooch escorted him to the hospital wing, instructing the other students to pause their practice until she returned.
From his spot in the library above, Lucien had a clear view of the scene. Madam Hooch might not have been quick enough to save Neville with magic—hardly up to a professor's standard—but she clearly cared, personally taking him to Madam Pomfrey.
Yup, looks like the plot's still on track, Lucien thought. Harry and Malfoy will probably end up chasing Neville's Remembrall on brooms, McGonagall will spot Harry's flying talent, and so on…
Nothing to do with him. Time to get back to studying. Lucien returned to his seat, picking up his book.
In the chaos, no one should've noticed he'd used magic—his silent spell was fast and subtle. But there was an exception: a blonde girl who'd been watching him closely.
Daphne Greengrass had seen everything—Lucien drawing his wand, casting without a word, and Neville pausing mid-air. Her mouth fell open, eyes wide with disbelief. "A silent spell?" she whispered. "That was a silent spell, right? Lucien didn't even say the incantation…"
"Didn't Mum say silent spells are advanced magic, taught in sixth year at Hogwarts? Lucien's in my year!"
Her murmurs continued, her mind reeling.
Daphne snapped out of it, but the shock lingered. As a Greengrass, from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she'd grown up steeped in magic, her understanding far beyond most kids her age. Yet she'd never heard of anyone their age casting a silent spell. It required not just precise control but a massive amount of magical power—something first-years simply didn't have.
"Lucien's my age. How does he have that much magic?" she muttered. "Pureblood? No, Grafton's not a pureblood name. Some reclusive family, maybe? But those are rare these days…"
"Lucien's something else. Not like those idiots who just flatter me. He's worthy of being my friend!"
Her eyes sparkled as she stood, ready to approach him. But before she could, a sharp, angry voice rang out behind her: "Young lady, the library is for studying and reading, not chatting with yourself! Out!"
Madam Pince's scolding made Daphne's face flush red, then pale. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts she forgot how strict the librarian was.
"I…"
But Madam Pince was already brandishing her feather duster. Daphne bolted, not daring to argue. In the library, Madam Pince didn't care if you were pureblood or from the Sacred Twenty-Eight—she'd toss anyone who disturbed the sacred study atmosphere.
Daphne didn't even glance at Lucien as she fled, too embarrassed.
Lucien, meanwhile, caught a glimpse of a blonde figure scurrying away. Tch, another one kicked out. Good thing Madam Pince keeps this place quiet. The figure seemed vaguely familiar, but before he could place it—
Bang!
A sound like someone crashing to the ground echoed, followed by a pained wail and the excited chatter of kids.
Lucien set down his book, glancing out the window. What now? Didn't I just save Neville?
Ugh, maybe today's just not a library day. Forgot to check the calendar.
Grabbing his book, Lucien decided to leave. He wasn't about to get caught up in whatever drama was unfolding on the grounds. Studying came first. Besides, Harry or Ron would probably track him down later to spill all the details—Gryffindors never missed a chance to brag about beating Slytherins, even if it was just two first-years duking it out on brooms.
---
A Few Minutes Earlier, Flying Lesson Field
"Give me the Remembrall, Malfoy!"
"No way, I'm hiding it so Longbottom has to hunt for it."
With that, Malfoy zoomed off on his broom. Harry, not one to back down, chased after him.
After a wild pursuit, they both hovered in mid-air.
"Want this, Potter?" Malfoy taunted, tossing the Remembrall up and down.
Harry itched to charge but didn't want to play Malfoy's game. Thinking fast, he rummaged in his pockets, pulling out his wand in one hand and a small tin in the other.
He popped open the tin, revealing a pale blue solid with a wick—Sleeping Draught Incense, brewed with Lucien's help the day before.
"Spreads fast, puts wizards to sleep in five seconds, ignite it with a Spark Charm…" Harry recalled Lucien's instructions.
"Scintilla Spargo!"
The incense lit up. Holding his breath, Harry hurled the tin at Malfoy. By some twist of fate, Malfoy tossed the Remembrall away at the same moment, shouting, "Go fetch it yourself!"
Harry dove for the Remembrall, snatching it near a window with a flashy spin, grinning at his victory. He didn't notice a stern, cat-like professor watching from inside.
Meanwhile, Malfoy caught the tin Harry threw. "Heh, what's this, Potter? Playing childish—?"
His taunt cut off as his eyes rolled back. He slumped, letting go of his broom, and plummeted to the ground.
A loud, pained cry echoed across the field, reaching Harry and Professor McGonagall. Her expression turned severe. Harry's face paled.
He'd messed up. Big time.