The Hogwarts Great Hall.
A few long tables were dotted with young witches and wizards casually munching on their lunch.
The air was thick with the smells of fried fish, chips, and steak.
Lucien sliced into his fried fish, inwardly grumbling about the culinary wasteland that was British food once again.
Man, he was craving some Chinese cuisine—the flavors of home.
Back at the manor, the house-elves could whip up Chinese dishes no problem, but here at Hogwarts...
Eh, maybe the Hogwarts house-elves could learn? It'd be a nice way to spice things up for everyone.
Crunch crunch—
Lucien glanced up at the source of the noise. Across from him, Harry was still looking all gloomy, hacking away at the steak on his plate like it had personally offended him.
"Snape's totally got it out for me!"
Harry grumbled furiously.
"I straight-up told him I didn't know the answer, and Hermione was right there with her hand up, ready to jump in, but nope—Snape zeros in on me!"
"What did I ever do to him?"
Lucien watched Harry shove food in his face and suddenly had an idea.
"Harry, when Snape was chewing you out, were you looking down the whole time?"
Harry looked up since it was Lucien asking, chewed a few bites of beef in his mouth, and swallowed hard.
"Yeah, Lucien, you should've seen it!"
Harry dropped his knife and fork, took off his glasses, and fixed those bright green eyes on him with a super serious face:
"Oh, Potter, tell me—what do you get when you add powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"
"Can't answer that, eh? Well, if you were hunting for a bezoar, where would you look?"
Pfft—
Cough cough cough...
Ron, who was slurping down some mushroom soup, nearly spat it out at Harry's spot-on Snape impression.
But spotting Lucien and Hermione across from him, he slapped a hand over his mouth and ended up choking and coughing like crazy.
Lucien's lips twitched at the show—he couldn't help but grin.
This kid's got a sense of humor after all.
Harry threw up his hands in exasperation and slipped his glasses back on.
"Lucien, Snape got right up in my face! If I hadn't looked down, I'd have been sprayed with spit!"
"And get this—he even plops down right across from me at the end, just staring me down like that."
"I could practically smell the grease in his hair. I wanna send him a bottle of shampoo!"
Lucien eyed Harry with some surprise.
Didn't peg the kid for a sharp tongue. Guess he'd rather die than lose a battle of wits or attitude.
Ron, who'd finally caught his breath, shot Harry a sideways glance and muttered glumly:
"You could always send him Potter-brand shampoo—the one from your family."
"That way, when Snape finally does you in, at least it'll be quick."
Seeing these two clowns about to launch into a full comedy routine, Lucien cut in quick with an off-topic question for Harry:
"Harry, you wear those glasses 'cause you're nearsighted, right?"
Harry nodded.
Lucien pressed on:
"Ever thought about taking them off during class? Especially Potions?"
Not just Harry—Hermione and Ron shot Lucien puzzled looks too, wondering what in Merlin's name he was getting at.
"But without my glasses, I can't even read the blackboard. Won't that just give Snape more ammo to pick on me?"
Lucien had to bite back a snicker in his head.
Heh, it's that round glasses that look just like your dad's that really sets Snape off.
Lucien snapped his fingers.
"Easy fix—there's this potion called Clarity Draught that restores your eyesight for a couple hours."
"It's first-year Potions stuff, shouldn't be too tough to brew."
Harry scratched his head at the suggestion.
"Sorry, I'm not great at brewing potions."
Lucien gave him a long look.
"You've barely started with Potions—how can you write yourself off already? And..."
"No reason to hate the subject just 'cause you can't stand the teacher."
"Knowledge isn't good or bad."
Harry nodded, a bit lost but figuring it made sense somehow.
"Plus, once you've ditched the glasses..."
"If Snape still hounds you with questions or yells at you..."
"You stare right into his eyes!"
"Even if he makes you cry your little heart out, you keep staring!"
Now Harry was totally baffled, and Hermione and Ron glanced back and forth between the two.
What's Lucien's deal? Does he have a grudge against Harry or something?
Ron voiced the confusion for his buddy:
"Uh, Lucien, you think that'll actually work? Or will it just..."
Lucien waved it off, sounding all confident:
"When you don't know the material yet, that's exactly when you gotta show some grit—like, 'I'm trying hard here.'"
"And the eyes are the windows to the soul, right? Use that eye contact to tell Snape: 'Yeah, I'm a bit slow now, but I'm dead serious about learning this!'"
The trio just blinked at Lucien's logic.
It felt off somehow, but they couldn't quite poke a hole in it.
With lunch just about wrapped up, Lucien grabbed his books and stood.
"You lot have Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing this afternoon too?"
They all nodded eagerly, faces lighting up with excitement.
Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't like Charms, which was more everyday magic—this was straight-up combat spells.
Harry looked the most pumped; that morning's Potions had left him totally deflated, and he was itching to dive into some real magic!
Seeing their starry-eyed enthusiasm for the class, Lucien gave a pitying shake of his head.
"Alright, let's head out and get to it."
...
Afternoon.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Once the bell rang, in shuffled the much-anticipated professor for the class—Professor Quirrell, his head wrapped in a long turban.
But with him came a wave of that godawful stench.
Some of the young witches and wizards couldn't help it—they raised hands to their noses.
Lucien just tapped his wand quick, casting a Freshening Charm over his mouth and nose to filter out the garlic reek.
"Y-you... g-good day, I-I'm... Qu-Quirinus Qu-Quirrell."
"Y-your p-professor for D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts."
The kids exchanged baffled looks at the professor's stammering intro, and the room buzzed with whispers.
"Q-quiet, p-please, n-no... n-noise."
Ron couldn't resist muttering to Lucien and the others:
"Is this really our Defense professor? A stutter's fine and all, but... isn't he just a sub?"
Hermione sounded unsure herself:
"Maybe... maybe he's got killer theory knowledge and real power?"
Even she didn't buy it.
"A-alright, l-let's b-begin with... Ch-Chapter One..."
And so Lucien sat there as Quirrell droned on—from the meaning of Defense Against the Dark Arts, to its current state, its history, and on to future prospects...
Lucien narrowed his eyes, like he was hallucinating.
This isn't some university lecture from my old life, is it? That bald prof who was smart but couldn't teach for beans?
Where'd they dig this guy up from?
Is this even Hogwarts anymore?