The Quidditch pitch was exploding with cheers and roars.
Lucien stood in the Ravenclaw stands, watching Gryffindor and Slytherin shake hands under Madam Hooch's watchful eye.
Her whistle pierced the air.
Game on!
All fourteen players shot into the sky.
But two figures blasted off way too fast. While everyone else was still climbing 50-60 feet, those two were already hovering at over 100, scanning the field.
Their brooms trailed streaks of blue-white lightning, glowing bright against the slate-gray sky.
Kids in the stands spotted it right away.
"Whoa, check those two—they're flying! "
"Gotta be the Seekers. Super fast—what brooms are those? Why the trails?"
"Hey, lemme borrow your binoculars—mine's busted."
"Get lost! 'Busted,' my foot—you're just jealous of the auto-tracking. Buy your own at the Seventh Workshop!"
"Spent all my pocket money there already. C'mon, buddies don't let buddies squint~~"
"..."
Lucien didn't bother with binoculars. He activated his Mage Sight, tiny vortexes swirling in his pupils for zoomed-in vision.
He whipped out a little notebook and quill, scribbling fast:
"Turning: magic leakage too high. Swap both deceleration runes for one decel + one lateral…"
When Harry pulled a physics-defying right-angle dive, the broom tail spat jagged blue sparks instead of smooth arcs.
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Quill scratched:
"Extreme maneuvers: conduction decay waves. Materials? Try silver alloy + snake-blood mana crystal…"
Meanwhile, Malfoy kept pace with raw straight-line power.
But on a high-speed turn, Lucien spotted runes flashing on the handle.
Notebook:
"Near-overload signs. Brake-balance module needs beefing up. Aggressive shifts cause early fatigue—but unavoidable in real matches…"
Suddenly, Lucien frowned.
A Bludger jerked mid-air in a stiff corner, hung frozen, then rocketed straight at Harry's back.
Dobby.
Right on schedule. Lucien set the quill down, wand in hand.
BAM. The Bludger froze dead.
Lucien's eyes narrowed, vortexes expanding as he zeroed in on a corner of the stands. Lips moved silently.
Down in the shadows…
A ragged house-elf in an old pillowcase flailed his arms. Short, skinny, bat ears, tennis-ball green eyes bulging.
Dobby was trying to knock Harry off—just enough to scare him away from Hogwarts, from danger.
But smooth control? Gone. The Bludger bogged down like it was stuck in quicksand.
Then—a distant-yet-whisper-close voice echoed in Dobby's head:
"Don't interrupt my observations. We'll talk later."
Terror gripped Dobby. The voice was calm… but heavy. Unquestionable.
His tiny body shivered. The voice returned:
"Easy, Dobby. I know you're protecting Harry. But not like this."
His name. His plan. Dobby froze, hands dropping. No more messing.
Up in the stands, Lucien saw the rogue magic vanish from the Bludger. Wand away. Back to notes on Harry and Malfoy ripping around on their East Wind brooms.
Quidditch rules were lax—no broom mods banned. If you could ride it without exploding, it was fair game.
Factory-fresh or sketchy garage job? Didn't matter. Fast? You're golden.
Lucien watched the speed demons zip by. Magic's a hell of a drug. With top-tier healing, broom crashes were just Tuesday.
"Merlin's broomstick—key moment!"
"Seekers are beasts today! Same model brooms—insane speed, agility, those gorgeous trails. New release from who?"
"But same sticks means it's all on the riders. And Gryffindor's Harry Potter's got the edge!"
Lee Jordan's commentary hyped the match, predictably Gryffindor-slanted. Lions roared; snakes hissed.
Lee didn't care—even ignored McGonagall's glares.
Crush their spirit, troll with words? That's commentary. Fairness? For chumps.
Oh—Harry's closing on the Snitch.
Match winding down, data collected. Lucien pocketed the notebook and quill.