The Quidditch pitch — by the broom shed.
"You can fly, Harry!" Oliver Wood gripped Harry Potter's shoulders so tightly his knuckles had gone white without him realizing it.
Harry frowned a little but nodded back at him.
"Alright, everyone—let's go!"
Once Harry responded, Wood turned and rallied the rest of the team.
November. The wind cut like knives.
Luke climbed into the stands and immediately realized just how brutally cold it had gotten.
The entire Quidditch stadium was cleanly divided by the four house colors, each packed with students and teachers. Judging by the size of the crowd, it looked like the whole school had shown up.
A sharp gust blasted through. One of the Bludgers tore across the sky like a black nightmare.
The Ravenclaw students screamed.
Up in the staff seats, the commentator—Lee Jordan—continued his very obviously biased commentary.
"Oh my God! The Quaffle's been taken by Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor! Now that girl is a perfect Chaser. She's gorgeous—"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor!"
Professor McGonagall's voice echoed loudly through the magically amplified mic.
Adam leaned over to Luke and Theo, whisper-shouting through the howling wind, "Honestly, I think the commentary's more fun than the actual match."
"That's debatable—look at that!"
Theo shouted and shoved a pair of mini-binoculars into Adam's hands.
Adam followed his pointing and gasped. "Savage! Absolutely savage behavior!"
"That's Quidditch at its finest!" Theo rolled his eyes and snatched his binoculars back.
Luke wasn't using binoculars at all—he had his wand pressed to his temple, turning it slightly. He was casting a version of a Farsight Charm, a modified spell from Grimwald's collection.
It let him lock onto a specific person and track them constantly.
Of course, the downside was… if the target moved too fast, the caster experienced dizziness and nausea.
So far, Luke was still okay—
But when Marcus Flint suddenly zoomed into the spell's view while Luke was tracking Harry, his stomach lurched. Probably a side effect of the spell.
"Slytherin's gained the advantage—but that was blatant cheating!" Jordan shouted, apparently forgetting he was supposed to be neutral.
"Jordan—"
"Right! Sorry, Professor!" He raised both hands in surrender as McGonagall shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel.
The rest of his commentary turned into thinly veiled sarcasm. Even from across the stands, Luke could practically feel the cold glares from the Slytherin section.
Sure, the truth might've been quick and clear—but this slow, mocking commentary hurt way more.
Even Theo, normally laser-focused on the match, couldn't help praising him. "This guy's a genius. I should introduce him to my aunt."
"Aren't you afraid Witch Weekly will get flooded with angry letters?" Luke asked, genuinely curious.
"That would be amazing!" Theo said, practically vibrating with excitement as if Witch Weekly was already drowning in fan mail.
Before Luke could comment on Theo's brand of… "filial devotion," the stadium erupted into louder shouts.
Luke turned back toward the field. Through the charm's magnified sight, he immediately saw Harry Potter clinging desperately to his broom, trying not to fall off.
Luke flicked his wand and switched targets—Snape, at the staff table.
Snape's lips were pressed tightly together, eyes locked straight onto Harry. His mouth was moving rapidly.
Seconds later, a mass of frizzy brown hair appeared behind him.
Hermione.
She glanced up, saw Snape, and pulled out her wand.
Through the enhanced Farsight charm, Luke clearly saw her mutter the incantation and flick her wand—
"Lacarnum Inflamarae" — "Blazing Fire."
Luke winced. "Yeah… that's bold. Very bold."
Back on the field, freed from the curse, Harry mounted his broom properly and sped after the Golden Snitch, racing right alongside Slytherin's Seeker.
FWOO—
"By Merlin's beard, he's insane!"
Theo yelled into the wind—and the next moment, the entire stadium exploded into cheers.
Jordan screamed into the mic,
"Harry Potter's caught the Golden Snitch! One hundred and fifty points!"
"GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled, followed by the official announcement confirming Gryffindor's victory.
"Merlin's fattest pair of boxer shorts! George, how long was that?" Fred asked as he stopped his broom.
"Five minutes!" Wood—Gryffindor's Keeper—let out a shout of pure triumph and dove toward Harry.
"Lost big…" Fred muttered. Apparently Luke from Ravenclaw was the only one who bet on Harry catching the Snitch within five minutes.
"Not really," George said calmly. "Remember, Malfoy bet thirty whole Galleons."
They'd followed Luke's advice the other day. The results were, in a word, spectacular.
Draco Malfoy—loaded with family gold—had tossed thirty Galleons into the pot.
"A tiny investment—huge return," Fred said, still awestruck at Luke's "small bet, big win" logic.
George elbowed him. "Come on, celebrations first."
The Gryffindors roared as they swarmed Harry.
Luke stood, put his wand away, and nudged Theo and Adam toward the exit.
Show's over. Time to get back to studying.
Theo shook Adam excitedly. "That was amazing, right?"
Adam looked half-dead. "Amazing? Maybe. But honestly? That was basically a death sport. Standing on a flying broom? Risky enough to be classified as a lethal competition."
"But you have to admit—Harry's one heck of a Seeker," he added.
Luke turned slightly and said quietly, "Some Quidditch matches have lasted nearly three months before ending."
"What?! Three months?!" Adam looked horrified.
Luke just nodded and picked up his pace, heading back toward the castle.
He still had Professor McGonagall's assignment to complete this afternoon. And with her strict expectations, he needed to perform exceptionally well.
Which meant:
A full week of speedrunning the advanced applications of Transformation Charms.
But before that—
He needed to finish all preparations for the third analysis of the Sorcerer's Stone.