At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

The heat at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was almost boiling.

The stands were bustling with noise, and red and green flags intertwined to form a noisy sea.

Lucian sat in the Ravenclaw stands, coldly observing the farce about to unfold below.

In his vision, the sky above the stadium was filled with golden threads.

They wove together a vast net, enveloping the small, thin figure riding the Nimbus 2000. The script had already been written: the savior's debut must be accompanied by thrills, crises, and final glory.

"This is what they call protagonist treatment."

Lucien took a sip of his black tea. "To highlight the hero's bravery, we must arrange a near-death acrobatic performance."

With a whistle from Madam Hooch, fourteen flying brooms soared into the sky.

The match started smoothly, with Lee Jordan's commentary full of passion. Harry Potter displayed amazing talent in the air, darting between his pursuers like a nimble swift.

Until a sudden change occurred.

Harry's broom suddenly twitched violently and then began to roll wildly.

It tried to throw Harry off.

Terrified screams erupted from the crowd.

Lucian's gaze cut through the noise of the stadium.

There, Snape was staring intently at Harry, his lips moving rapidly as he unleashed a counter-spell.

Not far from him, Professor Quirrell, huddled in his scarf, his eyes wide open, revealed a dark red malice emanating from beneath his purple turban, transforming into an invisible hand of curse that gripped Harry's broom handle tightly.

This is a silent tug-of-war.

On one side is Snape, who is desperately protecting his savior, and on the other side is Voldemort, who wants to test Dumbledore's limits.

The will of the world cheered. It manipulated the surrounding energy field, suppressing Snape's magic and amplifying Quirrell's curse, ensuring the scene was thrilling and exciting enough.

"A boring play."

Lucian put down his teacup.

"Now that I've got the backdoor to control things, why not make this one-man show a little more interesting?"

His consciousness sank into his dantian, triggering the gray vortex of magic.

Through the anchor point he had captured and modified, an invisible command flowed upstream along the stained gold thread, penetrating directly into the depths of Quirrell's chaotic soul.

The teachers were on the stands.

Quirrell, who was concentrating intently on casting the evil curse, felt as if the person on the back of his head had been stabbed hard with a needle. That excruciating pain, originating from the depths of his soul, exploded without warning.

"Well--!"

Quirrell let out a short, piercing scream, but the sound was drowned out by the surrounding noise.

His incantation was interrupted.

Worse still, the immense magical power originally used to control the broom lost its channel and suffered a severe backlash.

Quirrell suddenly leaned back, his whole body convulsing violently as if he were having a seizure, before collapsing headfirst onto Hagrid's broad back.

In mid-air, Harry's broom stopped its frantic tumbling and returned to calm.

Harry seized the opportunity to climb back onto the broom, looking completely bewildered.

That's the thrill of controlling variables. No need to wave a magic wand, no need to chant a spell, just a gentle nudge at the crucial moment.

However, the next second,

The sky suddenly darkened.

What was initially just a chilly wind suddenly turned violent, whipping the flags in the stands into a fluttering gust and even tearing several banners apart.

A grand, offended, and angry will descended upon the Quidditch pitch.

The script has been ruined.

If the villainous actor falters and the crisis isn't intense enough, the hero's shining moment will be greatly diminished.

Therefore, the world's will decided to step in and remedy the situation itself.

"Whoosh—!"

A ball that was chasing the Gryffindor pursuer suddenly drew a strange right-angled line in the air.

It was given a kind of acceleration that didn't belong to it, and even the best hitters couldn't generate that kind of power.

The black iron ball, accompanied by a piercing whistle, abandoned its original target and shot straight toward Harry Potter, who had just regained his footing.

The speed is so fast that it is almost impossible to detect with the naked eye.

Since the broom won't kill you, it will break your bones. In any case, hardship must come so that victory can be truly precious.

"Oh? So you're planning to get involved yourself?"

If Harry were to get shot in the head here, the Savior Training Program would turn into a funeral, and the entire storyline would completely collapse—a chaos that Lucian cannot currently bear.

He had to act, but he couldn't reveal himself.

The ball was less than ten feet away from Harry. Harry stared in horror, his eyes wide, with no time to dodge.

"Aresto Momentum (Shock Absorption and Speed ​​Stop)".

He applied a tiny lateral thrust to the runaway iron ball, altering its trajectory.

At the critical moment.

The ball grazed past Harry's ear, the gust of wind stinging his cheek and cutting off a few strands of his black hair.

And in the instant Harry's mouth gaped open in shock,

A golden object was swirled by the airflow from the moving ball, as if it had been shoved into his mouth by an unseen hand.

Harry instinctively choked, nearly choking to death.

He coughed violently, stumbled off the broom and rolled onto the sand, clutching his throat with both hands, and then, to the astonishment of the audience, spat out the small, golden ball.

The Golden Snitch.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the entire stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.

"Harry Potter has caught the thief! Gryffindor wins!"

On the teachers' stands,

Hermione Granger was moving stealthily through the crowd, wand in hand. Her intention was to set Snape's robes ablaze, as she was certain through her binoculars that Snape was casting a spell.

But when she finally managed to squeeze her way to the vicinity, she witnessed a perplexing scene:

Snape, pale-faced, put away his wand and watched Harry land, visibly relieved.

Professor Quirrell, who always stammered, was now slumped in his seat, his face covered in blood, covering his nose with a handkerchief.

Hermione's wand stopped in mid-air.

If Snape was a bad guy, why did he relax after Harry was safe? If Quirrell was innocent, why did he have that expression when Harry escaped?

And... was that wandering ball just an accident?

Hermione quietly put away her wand, imprinting the scene in her mind.

In the Ravenclaw stands.

Lucian watched Harry being tossed into the air by his teammates, feeling the lingering oppressive feeling emanating from the will of the world.

The force was swirling, seemingly searching for the source of the earlier interference with the ball, but ultimately, because Lucian's move was too fast and concealed, coupled with the chaotic magical fluctuations on the scene, it failed to lock onto its target.

But he knew he was being noticed.

"This time it's a running ball, what will it be next time?"

Lucian stood up but did not join the celebrating crowd.

He proved two things through this game:

First, Horcruxes are indeed effective control levers.

Second, the will of this world is a sophisticated yet volatile machine. If you disrupt its predetermined course, it will stop at nothing and use the most brutal methods to force its way to the desired outcome.

"We won, but it's also more dangerous now."

Lucian turned and walked toward the exit, his figure standing out starkly from the frenzied crowd.

"However, this also means that the play is finally starting to get interesting."