After the Match
Lucien spotted them almost immediately.
Katie, Clara, and Angelina were standing together near the edge of the pitch—arms crossed, cheeks puffed slightly, very obviously sulking.
Lucien walked over with an innocent smile.
"So," he said lightly, "is this the legendary Gryffindor sulk formation I've heard so much about?"
All three shot him a look.
Angelina huffed.
Katie looked away.
Clara tried to hide behind her sister—and failed.
Lucien chuckled, reached into his pocket dimension, and casually pulled out three cold cans of Coke.
He popped them open with a soft psssht and handed one to each of them.
They blinked.
"…What's this?" Clara asked.
"Emotional first aid," Lucien replied.
They drank.
A second later, shoulders relaxed. Frowns melted. The tension drained straight out of their expressions.
Katie sighed. "Okay… that helped."
Angelina muttered, "Still lost, but… yeah, that helped."
Clara smiled shyly. "Thank you, Lucien."
He waved it off. "You played well. Losing doesn't erase that."
All three blushed.
Before they could say more, Lucien stepped back, gave them a small salute, and disappeared into the crowd.
Gryffindor's Reaction
Contrary to expectations—there were no tantrums.
The Gryffindor table that evening was loud, but not bitter.
Fred raised his goblet.
"Alright, I hate to say it—"
George finished, "—but that was one bloody brilliant match."
Even Oliver Wood sighed, rubbing his temples.
"They outplayed us. No excuses."
Harry sat quietly, replaying the game in his mind—not with frustration, but understanding.
For the first time, he saw what true coordination looked like.
And he smiled.
Dumbledore's Quiet Analysis
From the staff table, Dumbledore watched Lucien carefully.
Not the goals.
Not the snitch.
The decisions.
Lucien never chased glory.
Never overextended.
Never panicked.
He adjusted roles mid-match. Redirected pressure. Protected Harry without making it obvious. Allowed Cedric to shine.
This wasn't talent, Dumbledore thought.
This was command.
Lucien didn't dominate the game.
He conducted it.
Fawkes chirped softly, as if in agreement.
Dumbledore folded his hands, eyes thoughtful.
If this boy ever chose power… the world would follow him willingly.
Hufflepuff's Secret Celebration 🦡
That night, long after curfew—
A hidden classroom near the kitchens glowed with warm yellow light.
No banners.
No shouting.
Just laughter.
Butterbeer bottles clinked quietly. Someone had stolen honey biscuits from the kitchens. Someone else brought enchanted lights shaped like badgers.
Cedric raised his glass.
"To teamwork."
"Hufflepuff," the captain added.
"And Lucien," someone said softly.
Lucien shook his head. "No. Today wasn't about me."
He looked around the room—at smiling faces, tired but proud.
"This," he said, "is what happens when everyone trusts each other."
The room went quiet for half a second.
Then they cheered—not loudly, but fiercely.
Loyal.
United.
Unshakable.
That night, Hufflepuff didn't just celebrate a win.
They celebrated who they had become.