The Quidditch pitch was getting absolutely hammered by a biblical-level shitstorm. Flags on the stands snapped like they were trying to start a riot.
Cho Chang sucked in a lungful of that wet, freezer-burn air and yanked her high ponytail tighter.
She tipped her chin up. The sky looked like someone had ripped it open and turned the faucet to "fuck you." Rain was dumping in sheets.
But those fat drops? They slid off an invisible bubble about two inches from her skin, like the storm was too scared to touch her.
Cho's fingers brushed the waterproof bracelet on her wrist—Lucien's latest flex. Thanks to that little beauty, every Ravenclaw player was bone-dry while the world drowned.
Problem was, the rain itself wasn't the only asshole. The splash-back and thick-ass mist were screwing with visibility like a cheap fog machine at a haunted house.
For a Seeker trying to spot a golden snitch the size of a walnut, that's a hard pass.
If only the damn rain would quit…
Cho mouthed it under her breath, then rolled her eyes at herself. This storm was a beast. It wasn't going anywhere for hours.
For some reason, her gaze drifted to the Ravenclaw stands. Through the blur of blue flags and sideways rain, there he was—Lucien.
Her grip tightened on her "East Wind" broom. After that mind-blowing test flight, she was straight-up addicted. Sure, it had turned heads during the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, but riding the final version? Night and day. Speed, stability, responsiveness, magic conduction—every stat crushed the Firebolts, Cleansweeps, and Comets she'd flown before.
Her respect for that underclassman? Skyrocketing. Again.
We got this, she told herself. With East Wind, we're stacking the deck.
She was locking in, ready to nod at the Hufflepuff team under Madam Hooch's whistle, when—
BOOM!
Not thunder. Something else. A gut-punch of sound that cut through the storm like a chainsaw.
Then—holy hell—a blinding orb of rainbow magic shot out of the Ravenclaw stands like a goddamn missile. It dragged a neon tail and slammed into the cloudbank.
What in the actual—
Ten seconds later, the rain… eased? Cho blinked up. The lead-gray sky was getting shredded from the inside by silver lightning, clouds thinning out like cheap toilet paper.
Minutes later? The rain stopped. A weak sunbeam sneaked through, glinting off the soaked pitch.
Cho whipped her head back to the stands. Lucien gave her a lazy wave. Next to him? Some black cannon-looking thing.
Up in the Ravenclaw bleachers, Lucien cool as hell slid the alchemy gadget into his undetectable extension-charmed pocket.
He glanced at the horizon. A flash of gold—his thunderbird, Été, vanishing into the distance.
[Ding! Congrats, Host. Storm neutralized. Junior Lightning Rune (weekly loan) repaid.]
Pfft. Alchemy cannon + thunderbird combo? Just a storm. EZ.
The kids around him? Losing their goddamn minds.
"What the hell just happened? It was a monsoon!"
"Lucien pulled out a black cannon!"
"He fired it!—"
"Merlin's saggy left nut—THE RAIN STOPPED!"
Screams, gasps, everyone staring at Lucien like he just drop-kicked God.
Sure, his gadgets and potions were cool before, but weather control? That's next-level wizard shit.
---
Pitch cleared. Game on.
Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled. Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the magical PA:
"AND WE'RE OFF! Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang, rocketing on—wait, is that the East Wind again? Same broom, but damn, look at that acceleration and those silky turns!"
"Oh man—genius broom designer Lucien teams up with badass Seeker Cho. Junior-senior synergy, baby! Ravenclaw's love story!"
"Honestly, their roster's scary as hell!"
Cho, mid-dive for the snitch, nearly face-planted. What the fuck is this Gryffindor commentator on about? Her cheeks burned. Good thing she was fifty feet up.
Focus. Snitch. Tiny golden asshole. Find it.
---
Gryffindor stands.
Ron was on his tiptoes, craning for another look at Lucien's mystery cannon.
"Harry, you saw that, right? Lucien just yeeted a storm?!"
Harry shrugged. "Heard the boom. Isn't weather magic… normal?"
Ron scratched his head. Harry and Hermione were Muggle-raised; they didn't get how insane this was.
"It's, uh… really not. My air rifle's a toy compared to that. One shot and—poof—clouds gone."
"Cough—Harry, you tight with that Lucien kid?"
Oliver Wood muscled through the crowd, eyes wild.
Harry turned. "Wood? What's up?"
"Look, if Lucien's got a storm-buster, can you ask to borrow it? No rain = better practice. I'll pay! I'll beg McGonagall for budget!"
Harry's stomach dropped. Wood was already a training tyrant. Give him weather control? They'd be flying through hurricanes for "character building."
"…I'll ask," Harry muttered.
"YES! Cup's ours, Potter! Don't let me down!"
Harry forced a smile. Kill me.
---
Faculty stands.
Professors were side-eyeing Lucien like he'd grown a second head.
McGonagall leaned to Flitwick: "Filius, does Ravenclaw always let Lucien nuke the weather for Quidditch?"
Flitwick waved a tiny Ravenclaw flag, grinning. "Minerva, first time I've seen that cannon. Swear on my wand."
McGonagall glanced at the stands, then back. "First the broom, now this. I don't know what to freak out about first."
Flitwick's smile widened. "Kid's full of 'little surprises,' huh?"
McGonagall snorted. "Surprises? More like heart attacks. Speaking of—" She slid over the latest Transfiguration Today. "Check the cover."
Flitwick dropped his flag. Eyes bugged.
"Lucien Grafton?"
"Most Innovative Transfiguration Breakthrough in a Century?"
McGonagall smirked. She'd known since Lucien showed her the draft. Purely for the joy of watching Flitwick short-circuit.
Dumbledore, lurking behind them, was definitely enjoying this.
"So, Filius," McGonagall teased, "surprise or scare?"
Flitwick clutched his chest, flipping pages. "Minerva, my poor heart…"
She laughed. "Kid could teach Transfiguration tomorrow. Maybe I'll retire early—world tour, anyone?"
Flitwick: "You're deputy headmistress and Gryffindor Head. Retire? I'll go first—Lucien can take Charms and Ravenclaw!"
He pivoted. "Minerva, with this paper, the Omni Ring award's a lock, right?"
"No question. Magical creature transfiguration just rewrote the field. The award needs him to stay relevant."
She glanced at Dumbledore. "Though… there's another medal. Merlin Order?"
Every prof swiveled to the headmaster. Merlin medals went through the Wizengamot—and Dumbledore was Chief Warlock.
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon specs, staring at the sky like he hadn't heard. "Hmm? Been busy. Memory's fuzzy."
Bullshit. Everyone knew Dumbledore's "forgetfulness" was code for I'm scheming.
Truth? Lucien's work deserved a Second-Class Merlin easy. First-Class? Trickier. Required saving lives or averting magical disasters.
Sure, stopping Voldemort-possessed Quirrell last year counted—but the Ministry was playing ostrich, pretending You-Know-Who wasn't almost back.
Dumbledore figured Lucien had time. Second-Class at his age was already legendary.
"…Huh."
Dumbledore squinted at the horizon. Since when do we have thunderbirds around here? Newt hasn't visited…